


Suspicious Minds

by Scarlett_Oakenshield



Series: With Love, From a Sunflower [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxious Reader, Arguments, Canon Compliant, Comedy, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hufflepuff, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Other, Romance, playing with form, reader has a brief relationship with lockhart, shy reader, snape cares but he's bad at showing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Oakenshield/pseuds/Scarlett_Oakenshield
Summary: Poor communication and an argument with Professor Snape leads to seemingly unfixable misunderstandings and wounded feelings. The fates continue to work against you by bringing danger to Hogwarts and tempting you into risqué decisions involving the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Relationships: Gilderoy Lockhart/Reader, Severus Snape/Reader
Series: With Love, From a Sunflower [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553173
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	1. Defense Mechanism

**Author's Note:**

> I mention later that Kit is muggle-born. I went back and changed it in the previous story. At first, I stated they were “half-blood”, but I went back and made Kit’s mom half-blood instead, so, therefore, Kit is less than half-blood. I have a headcanon that anything less than half-blood classifies a wizard as muggle-born.

I: Defense Mechanism

 _Late! I’m late!_ You’re running down the wet sidewalk under the overcast sky. It is late August, but you’ve got a fresh bout of rain because of the thunderstorm which was forecasted. You’d forgotten an umbrella, so rain is soaking your face and hair, soiling the time and effort you put into your appearance this morning. The drops slap your body and patter on the sidewalk. Your feet splash through puddles. You’re flying down the street of Hogsmeade, trying to reach the café before the storm can pick up even more. You’d gotten held up at your part-time gig and time had slipped away from you. After work, you’d apparated back to Hogwarts, sprinted to your dorm, showered, changed, and left again. It was raining when you’d sped out the door, and because you were already late you hadn’t grabbed an umbrella.

Tardiness annoyed him just as much as it annoyed the next professor, and you weren’t an exception just because you were friends. So, you enter the café, soaked to the skin, with your hair plastered to your face in stringy wetness and your stomach feeling that familiar knotting of nerves mixed with guilt. You stop to catch your breath and wipe your feet, before you scan your gaze about, trying to find where the other is sitting and waiting.

“Washed up, I see.” says a dry voice from behind. You stiffen and jump slightly, before you turn to face the six-foot-two brooding figure all in black, with a hooked nose, shoulder-length hair, and intense dark eyes. 

“Ah- Severus! Sorry, I’m late I—”

He holds out a hand to quiet you, “Stop apologizing. By now your redundant tardiness quirk has become a habit.” he comments, “I’m used to it. Though, if you would have been late to my class every day, well, I wouldn’t have considered you to be less incompetent than your other classmates.”

He’d been your teacher before this. You’d graduated from Hogwarts almost seven years ago now. Last year, you’d landed a job at your Alma Mater, and now you taught drama and _The Study of Ancient Runes._

“I was on time last week, and the week before that…” you reply meekly, trying to show some credibility.

“It doesn’t matter now.” he says, “Now, are we just going stand here or are we going to get in line for drinks?”

You blush lightly, “R-right.” And with that, the two of you walk side by side to get behind other patrons. He stands still and stiff as a pole and you shuffle nervously from foot to foot. Another habit he had dubbed a “redundant quirk of yours”. 

“I can help whoever’s next!” says the familiar voice of a familiar barista. You turn to face Snape. With a hand, he motions you to go first. So, you turn to face the young man with pastel purple-pink hair down to his shoulders.

“Hullo Kit!” he says, face-lighting up.

“Mauve, darling! Hi!”

“You gettin’ the usual?” he asks.

“Mmm-hmm.” He jots down the order on a slip of paper and rips it from the tablet he’s holding. He sticks it to a hot beverage cup with a flick of his wand and calls out what it is for the baristas making drinks. 

“I gotta ask…what happened to you?” he says, looking back to you again. 

You roll your eyes, “I knew you’d make a remark. I sprinted here in the rain because I was running late.” He looks to see Snape standing behind you.

A mischevious grin spreads across his face, “For your date?” he teases quietly in his airy voice. You turn bright red.

“Be quiet, Mauve!” you say with a low, flustered murmur, “I told you, and everyone else, a _billion_ times that is not what this is! We’re simply two friends that meet at the same café each week.”

“That’s basically weekly coffee dates.” You’ve now become a strawberry because, in the back of your denial-filled mind, you know that he’s right.

You speak up. “I swear I will ensure we deliberately stop coming when I know you’re working if you tease me again!” You aggressively set the gold pieces in front of him, “Keep the change and the receipt. Don’t embarrass me.”

He laughs, “Okay, okay I won’t~ Love you.”

“Love you too, you arse.” You whisk across the café in a flourish towards the pick-up counter. Then, you raise your wand just subtly and use it to tug lightly at Mauve’s hair. Mauve hisses and turns to face you. You stick your tongue out at him. Snape walks up to order.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Coleman.” Snape says in his slow purr, drawing your friend’s attention back to his job.

“Afternoon, Professor Snape. What can I get you?”

“The usual.” he says, “A medium, no foam latte with blonde roast and split quadruple shots- 1 ½ decaf and 2 ½ regular with 2% milk, a serving of half cream, a half pump of vanilla syrup, 3 sugars in the raw, and four short sprinkles of cinnamon.” he drawls slowly, while Mauve scribbles rapidly onto a piece of paper, with sweat dotting his brow. There’s an uncomfortable silence while the professor stands at the counter, and your heart goes out to poor Mauve. 

“Did you get that?” Snape asks, “Or shall I repeat it?”

“I think I got it. But I’d like to double-check.” Mauve reads the order back. Snape nods curtly and pays him. “Keep the change.” He says, and then makes his way across the room towards you. Once he’s next to you, the two of you walk over to your usual spot: a small, corner booth right by the window.

After a short while, you hear your names called.

“I have an order for Severus and an order for Kit, please!” You eagerly hop up and go to the counter to fetch the drinks. While you’re picking them up, you meet eyes with Mauve. He mouths, _“What do you see in him?”_

And you shrug and smile softly, before mouthing, _“Sorry”_ in response to the poor, exasperated barista. You carefully carry the drinks over with their saucers and set them in front of the two of you. You sit down and then lift the cup to your lips. You sip your warm drink before turning to glance out the window at the dreary overcast and pattering rain.

“Ghastly weather, don’t you think?” you ask Severus, looking towards him. He looks to you, meeting your gaze.

“Surely you have something more interesting to discuss besides for the weather, Kit.” Snape says dryly, “We’ve had this same conversation before.” 

You huff, blowing a wayward strand of hair from your face with the air you’ve exhaled, no longer hiding your usual irritation with his snarky attitude. You sip your drinks in tandem, and you struggle to try and find something to say.

“Truth be told, I didn’t do anything remotely interesting over the break except for keeping my readings polished, type up lesson outlines, and work my part-time job.” You had spent the summer as a receptionist at the Ministry of Magic, which you had been previously employed as full time before taking the job as a professor, “I mean, I spent two days on holiday in Venice, but the weather wasn’t very good so it wasn’t as enjoyable as it could have been.” You were twenty-four this year, and you felt no different. Your next ‘milestone’ would be age 30, and that was hardly a milestone. 

“Again, with the weather?” Snape huffs dryly.

“There isn’t much else to talk about but that,” you say, “It stormed, so I was stuck at the inn and couldn’t go for a joy ride on the gondolas. Stella and I spent most of the time at restaurants and bars. Eliza and the others came down for my birthday dinner, but that was about it.” You pick up your cup and take another sip of your drink, “It wasn’t horrible, it just wasn’t very eventful.” 

Snape hums quietly, before he says, “That reminds me.” He pulls something from his cloak. It is a little yellow box tied with a ribbon. You feel blush crawling up your cheeks as he slides it across the table to you.

“A birthday present?” you’re touched.

“It’s custom to buy gifts for birthdays, is it not?” he replies, with a “ _duh”_ undertone.

“You didn’t have to—” you trail off, and a soft smile crosses your face as you decide to just to let it be. “Thank you.” You take the tag in your hands and turn it over to read the label. There is a simple message written in the loopy, swirling handwriting of his: _Happy Birthday, Kit._ You slowly untie the ribbon. It slides off and falls onto the table. You lift the lid. Inside, you discover four neatly lined up vials resting on a velveteen pillow. Each has a different substance inside. You pick one up carefully and open the vial. Immediately, the scent of lavender, honey, and vanilla fill your nose.

“This smells like the Honey-Lavender concoction you made for me that one time—the one you gave me the recipe for.”

“Because it is,” he replies, “I figured out how to make it into a powder. All of the vials in this box are powdered versions of the hot drinks you’re addicted to. I took the liberty of modifying the recipes myself.” You examine the vials again, and then you realize that they are hand-labeled in ink: Peppermint hot cocoa, milk tea, Honey-Lavender Sleep Tonic, and the last was a custom tea blend with Earl Grey as its base.

“So now all I have to do is mix them with water or milk!” you exclaim excitedly, “Instead of having to make it from scratch! Thank you, Severus!” There are the butterflies, resurfacing themselves again. 

“Granted, they taste better from scratch, but since tardiness is a habit of yours, I trust you’ll find these useful.”

_A simple “You’re welcome” would have sufficed, smart arse!_ You think. Your giddiness is replaced with an unamused frown. While you know he’s chaffing you in the sarcastic way in which he does, it never ceases to spark irritation in you. And he knows that. So, he intentionally does it. He sips his drink again and stares out the window. He checks the time on his pocket watch. You make small talk, glance in between each other, drink some more, look out the window, and repeat. 

“We ought to finish up quickly,” he says dryly, “I have errands to do in town today. I suppose that since you’re here and have nothing else to do for the rest of the day, you might as well come along and do yours. Save yourself another trip.”

“How did you know I had errands to do?” you ask.

“There was a list scribbled on a scrap of parchment in your wallet.” he replies.

“Right…of course.” _How observant is he!?_

“So?” he presses, “Are you coming or are you not?”

“Of course, I’ll tag along!” you say, voice laced with enthusiasm and confirmation.

With these thoughts in mind, you finish promptly, before the two of you return your “Dine-In” dishes of emptied cups. You bid Mauve a fond farewell, and then cross the wet entryway mat. You push open the heavy door. The tiny bell chimes. You step out into the cool air and onto the wet pavement. He grabs your hand to apparate the two of you, and then you set off down the busy streets of Diagon Alley. 

“Next time you should let me do the apparating.” you say, once you’ve reached your destination.

“Not a chance,” he replies, “Last time I let you do it, you got us lost.” You flush. You did, in fact, have a horrible sense of direction, and your mind was constantly swirling with thoughts that went every which where. Your hyper-abstract thinking had gotten you in trouble more than one time.

“I’m honestly surprised you even know your way around Diagon Alley as well as you do.” Snape continues.

“Well, I’ve been going here since I was, I don’t know, _eleven.”_ you reply, “Of course I know my way around.”

“Perhaps. But evidently, you don’t seem to understand jokes.” he continues to tease, and you find yourself bristling like a cat.

_Sarcastic ass._ You think to yourself, although you won’t call him that, not in person, not yet.

“I swear to whatever higher power there is, Severus—” you form the beginnings of a ‘threat’, but you can’t finish because you can’t think of an actual threat to finish with. And your attempt to threaten him, instead, earns you a hint of that smug smirk of his.

“Come on, Kit. Let’s go.” he starts to make his way down the street, and you fall into your short, bouncy stride beside his long one. You start down the street to _Slug and Jiggers Apothecary._ Snape tells you he needs to buy potion ingredients. When you step inside, it reminds you very much of a curiosity shop, full of odd and even revolting things needed to make potions. It’s mildly crowded when Snape sweeps inside with his long cloak and you go after him, immediately feeling eyes on you. Or, rather, eyes on both of you. The few students who are inside that are returning see Professor Snape, and immediately begin uncomfortable murmurs.

_That’s Professor Snape…he’s the worst…he hates everyone…one of the harshest and meanest teachers…bullies his students…I heard…They say he…he hates…_

While you bristle at every whisper and rumor, Severus ignores them. As much as you loathe to admit it though, you know that some of the things they’re saying about him are true. You had experienced the difficulty and occasional misery of his class yourself, but he’s your friend now, so naturally, you feel protective. You examine some jars of plant bits floating in colored liquid and strain your ear to listen.

_…best stay away from him or he’ll take points from your house before the term starts…most hated teacher at Hogwarts’…_

You glance warily at Severus, but he’s on the opposite end of the store, away from the gossiping students, and loading ingredients into a basket, either ignoring, or not hearing their murmurs.

_I heard from somebody who heard from someone else that he used to work for you-know-who…someone told me he spent time in Azkaban…I was told he’s so mean that he nearly caused a third year to commit suicide…Another friend of mine said that he’s tried to kill himself multiple times…_

_“Hmmph. If only he’d succeeded. If you ask me, Hogwarts ‘ou’d be better off without ‘im.”_

You slam the jar you’ve picked up back on the shelf and it makes a resounding bang, which echoes throughout the store, causing everyone to fall silent and turn to face you. The eyes burn into your skin. You laugh, “I’m sorry.” You say, turning to face the students, “This slipped out of my hand because I was appalled by something I was hearing.” You glare daggers at the group of students. They look to be about 4th or 5th years, and they’re looking right at you with wide eyes. You recognize one or two of them from your classes, and your glare softens to disappointment, “And the fact that such disrespect is coming from _my_ students.”

“Professor Oakley—” one of them starts, “We weren’t meanin’ any harm.”

You shake your head, feeling a sting behind your eyes, “Regardless of how you feel about a person…you should never wish death upon them. You’re learning spells, by now you should understand how powerful words can be. I’m disappointed in you, darling.” You turn and you leave the display and join Severus at his side, leaving the embarrassed students behind you. And you silently hope they’re feeling some degree of shame or apology.

“Sorry if I took too long loitering,” you immediately say, “I had to…uhh…discipline some students.” He stops and turns to look at you.

“ _You_ disciplined students, Kit?” he repeats. His voice appears to echo with some form of foreign amusement you aren’t used to hearing from him. 

“Yes. I may be soft but I’m no pushover.” you reply, “And I stand up for others when I hear people being disrespectful.” 

He doesn’t respond, but he hums quietly and puts one more can of something in his basket.

“Unless you need to get something from here, I’m finished.” he says. You nod. He walks up to the counter to pay and then the two of you exit _Slug and Jiggers Apothecary._ By now, the rain has stopped, and the sky has begun to clear. Snape checks the time on his pocket watch. 

“Umm…Severus?” his dark eyes shift towards you in acknowledgment, “I just remembered I need to go to _Eeylop’s Owl Emporium_ to pick up Jareth’s supplies.” Jareth was your pet barn owl, whom you spoiled generously.

“That’s fine. Meet me outside _Magical Menagerie_ when you’re done.”

“Mmm hmm. Promise I won’t be long.” As you go your separate ways, you wonder to yourself, what kind of magical pet it is Snape has. You’d never thought about that before. But now, you had to know. You’d be sure to ask him when you met up again.

You end up with more than you bargained for going back in there. Along with his usual food, treats, and eye medication, you bought Jareth a new grooming set and a sweater. Yes. A sweater.

-xXx-

The separation only took about 10 minutes or so, and soon, you were crossing the street back to Magical Menageries to meet him. He was waiting outside, reading the cylindrical can of something he just purchased. When you’re at his side again, you glance at the can of… _What!?_

Your heart flutters with giddy joy and you’re overwhelmed with the warm fuzziness that one feels when witnessing something cute. And, before you can think you’re bouncing around Severus like an excited child.

“Can I please meet your fur-babe, please? Pretty please?”

He stares you dead in the face and says, “My what?”

“Your fur-babe.” you repeat, “That’s what some people call their pets.”

“I know that, but it’s a ridiculous name.” he responds, unamused, “And I suppose that vile bird of yours is a ‘feather-babe’?”

You give him an exaggerated frown, “He’s not vile. He’s just an arse sometimes. The two of you have a lot in common.” you say, matter-a-factly.

Silence.

Oops. You flush red. You were thinking out loud too loudly again. “I-I mean that in the best way possible, I swear!” you immediately defend. You study his black-hair-framed face and watch him fight the tug of a smile.

“Fine. You can meet her. But you are not to speak of her to anyone.”

“Deal.”

He checks the time on his watch again, “We best be getting back before this place is swarming with even more incompetent dunderheads than there already is.”

“Right.” You start back down the alley again. You pass _Flourish and Blotts_ and discover that the line is horribly long and meandering down the sidewalk.

“My goodness! Look at the line! I’m certainly glad I don’t have to buy any more textbooks this year.”

Snape rolls his eyes, “Ridiculous.” He comments dryly, “They’re all there to get a chance to meet Gilderoy Lockhart.”

You inwardly scream, “Gilderoy Lockhart!? Shut it! You’re serious!?” you exclaim, voice echoing loudly in the air and causing Snape to wince slightly. You blush and mutter an apology.

He rolls his eyes again, “For Gods’ sakes. Don’t tell me you’re one of _those_ …” he huffs.

“Well…I mean…I really love his books and he’s well…ya know…” you trail off and turn a deeper red, “He’s handsome too…”

“Oh God…you are one of his fans…” Snape looks exasperated.

“Well…yes but—but I prefer the Muggle Musician David Bowie more…”

“He’s an arrogant dunderhead.” he says bitterly, “And he’s teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this term,” he mutters something rude directed towards Dumbledore.

“What?”

“Lockhart.”

“Oh. Right…” you trail off, “Wait a moment. Did you say he’s teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

Snape huffs, “Unfortunately.”

“Well…th-that’s wonderful! I’ll get to meet him and work with him and—wait…oh what if I...Oh goodness what if I make a fool of myself in front of him at the staff meeting and then…” your heart thumps wildly in your ears as you begin to fret over everything. 

“I guarantee you one thing, letters of admiration will be meaningless to him, regardless of how poetic you write them. The only thing it will succeed in doing is increasing his infuriating arrogance.” Snape continues.

“Oh, he can’t be so terrible, can he?” you press, “I mean, he’s written about all of these great things he’s done so...” you can sense Snape getting tenser and tenser and more irritated.

“Never mind. Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you…I just…there are other celebrities I like better than him.” you reply, trying to mask how much of a die-hard Lockhart fan you were, although, after your initial reaction, it is senseless.

In an attempt to lighten the air, you ask, “Would you like me to carry something for you? Your hands are pretty full.”

“I’ve got it.” He answers. Then, he takes your hand and the world turns into a hazy, tugging blur as the two of you apparate back to Hogwarts’ gates. Snape checks the time, muttering a curse. “Six hours. She’s starving by now…” He briskly cuts across the property and enters the heavy doors of the castle. Once you’re inside, you walk briskly to the teacher's dorms. You end up at Snape's door, which is not far from yours. Snape pulls his wand from his cloak and waves it in front of him, “ _Alohomora”._ He says. With a “click”, the door unlocks. Snape takes hold of the knob and pushes it open. It’s dark inside because the curtains are pulled over the window. He briskly walks over to it and tosses the drapes aside, letting the summer sunshine in, and illuminating the dark room. The moment it does, a tiny, high-pitched sound pierces the air.

“Close the door behind you,” Snape says. It's his invitation to beckon you inside. Cautiously, you step forward into the room and do as you were told. The mewling persists.

“Yes. Alright. I know you’re hungry. One moment.” He rushes into the kitchen area of the small studio and begins to vigorously prepare something using a combination of magic and the ingredients he bought from the store. That’s when you notice the basket next to the worn sofa. The mewling is coming from it. You look down and then you see it. The tiny creature, hanging partially out of the edge of the basket, at first looks lik nothing more than a ball of fur. But with some movements and squirms, it soon takes a form with a fuzzy face and whiskers, pointed ears of velvety black, and a wide pair of shining blue eyes. The paws and belly fur are white, and as it opens its mouth to continue crying, you see the pint-sized pink tongue and the glint of the tiny pure white teeth. The kitten mewls at you, and then stumbles out of the woven basket and blankets, tumbling to the carpet.

You feel stinging behind your eyes again, but this time its because the furry babe is so cute. You get down on the floor to try and help it, but in that moment, Snape whisks into the room and carefully scoops it into his hand. He sits down beside you and puts the kitten in his lap. There’s a bottle in his other hand. He gently places his fingers on the kitten’s neck and back and applies some pressure to direct its head towards the bottle. The kitten grabs it with its mouth and begins to ravenously consume the formula.

Your heart pounds and your core flutters with warm and fuzzy things. The kitten downs the rest of the bottle and then rolls onto its back, purring with content and closing its eyes. Snape scratches the kitten under the chin and draws his hand across the chubby belly. The kitten yawns and then roles onto its stomach again and blinks its wide blue eyes, looking right at you. Then, it crawls across Snape’s lap and onto yours to investigate you.

“Hello,” you say, petting the soft fur, “Aren’t you a darling little thing!” you look up at Snape, “How old?” you ask.

“She’s around four weeks.” She crawls up your t-shirt and rubs her face against your neck. You scratch her behind the ears.

“I found her about a week ago roaming the castle grounds. No littermates, no mother. She was so weak when I rescued her, it’s a miracle she survived.” 

She stumbles off your shoulder. “Whoa!” you exclaim, catching her in your hands, “Be careful sweetie.” You put her back onto your lap. She loses interest in you and walks across the couch to Snape, climbing onto his shoulder and entertaining herself by tugging and batting his hair. He scratches her under the chin.

“But she did. And now I’m stuck with her, I suppose,” he tells you.

“Yes, she looks much better now.” Your face flushes slightly, “You did a wonderful thing, Severus. Rescuing her.”

“I wasn’t about to leave her to be eaten by the owls.” he scoffs. She pulls too hard on his hair. He hisses in pain.

“Lily, no!” he exclaims, “For the last time my hair is not a toy.” He plucks her from his shoulder and puts her on the couch next to him. Then, he produces a feather toy from the basket and waves it in front of her. She immediately begins to stumble about to try and catch it.

“Lily?” you echo. He immediately stiffens, “That’s a sweet name for a cat.” you say, with a smile. He meets your gaze, and for a moment you catch something in his eyes you’ve never seen before- it’s a misty-eyed, brow-furrowed expression of immense pain.

“Purity and virtue.” You say.

“What?”

“Lilies symbolize purity and virtue.” you say, “And modesty and devotion. They’re associated with funerals but in a beautiful and poetic way because they symbolize that the soul of the departed has received restored innocence after death…I just feel like it suits her somehow…oh! And lilies are poisonous too, did you know that?”

On your tangent you had been watching the kitten and not paying as much attention to Severus, nor had you noticed his drastic shift in mood. So, when you looked up at him again you were shocked to discover that his dark eyes had turned to a glazed-over mistiness, with gathering mist…almost as if he was about to…

“Severus?” you start, “What’s wrong?”

“Get out.” he drawls lowly, voice laced with something you could only describe as fury.

“Wh-what?” you’re baffled by his sudden anger, “I don’t understand, why are you upset with me?” He turns his face and reddened eyes away from you and drops the feather toy, which gets tackled by Lily the kitten.

“I need time alone. Leave. Go away.” He says, venom in his voice. Immediately, you scramble up from the couch and his side, gather your things, and briskly walk out the door, letting it slam behind you, and taking off toward your own dorm with hot tears filling your eyes, more upset than you had been in a long time. 


	2. Walls

II. Walls

You storm around your dorm, with your hands pressed to your head, and your mind a muddled mess. Your insides are burning with frustration, tearing with guilt, screaming with agonizing pain, and storming with confusion. 

__

_ What did I do, what did I do? Things were going well and I  _ **_ruined_ ** _ it! I don’t understand how or why or what I said…I… _

You are being tormented.

_ I don’t understand what I did or how or…all I said was…did I…I don’t…I’m sorry…he hates me now…he hates me…things were going so well…until I…I hurt him…did I get too close? I’m sorry, I’msorryi’msorryi’msorry…Idon’tidon’t…understandiIdon’tknow… _

You’re hyperventilating now, and you can hear your blood throbbing in your ears. Your stomach is churning with nausea, you feel sick. All you can see in your mind’s eye is that look of pure disdain, rage, and pain he’d given you and the redness that may have been from his forming tears which had never completely formed. For the first time in a long time, his beautiful eyes had looked cold to you. 

Hot tears pool down your face. Scattered among your fragmented frets, his pained and angry voice was loud and clear, pounding in your head along with your pulse. Your throat feels dry and sore, and your stomach churns as if you are going to hurl.

_ Hehatesme hehatesme hehatesme,..ihurthim…I hurt him…hurthim…he’llneverevertalk to me again…whathaveidonewhathavedone…sorryi’msorryi’msorryi… _

__

_ -xXx- _

At first, you’d think maybe you were just too much to handle today, that you had annoyed him too much and he was at his limit with you. But the heavy ache you’d sensed told you that that wasn’t it. It was something way deeper, but what, you didn’t know.

The room is spinning. Hot tears burn reddened eyes and ruin what makeup you have on them. You can’t stop crying. Your head thumps, you’re going to faint again.

You grip fistfuls of hair and tug violently. You pace vigorously around the room. The air is stuffy. You can’t take it. You race over to the window and tear it open, sticking your face out and taking a gasping breath of fresh air. You lean over the windowsill and screw your eyes together, letting tears fall to the ground below you, while you continue to take in gulps of air through ragged gasps and wracking sobs.

_ Breathe.  _ There’s a voice in your head telling you to breathe. Whether it’s Eliza…or Bowie…it’s someone that isn’t you. You pull your head from the window and back into the room. Through your ragged breathing and shaking hands, you manage to put a record on.  _ That record. Bowie’s record.  _ The one that always helps to calm you down. You don’t fight it or encourage it. Let the music embrace you instead. You let it bleed into your senses and work its magic to slowly even your breathing and clear your head.

You lay down on your bed. Jareth flies in from the outside. He sits beside you and tucks his moon-face under your chin, sighing to comfort you. You draw your hand slowly across his brown-feathered back.

The music echoes in your ears and panic dwindles, the tears slow down, and lethargy takes over. 

~xXx~

Once you’ve calmed down enough, you go into your bathroom to wash your face. Jareth is occupying one shoulder, watching you with weary, mismatched eyes. One of his eyes is permanently damaged, cloudy with blindness and cataracts. The other is wide, glinting, and normal. You sniffle and blow your nose. You change into a fresh outfit. You put Snape’s gift in the back of the small cupboard in your dorm. In your socks, you make your way downstairs to make some cocoa. You discover Dumbledore is down there also. You stiffen.

“Oh! Headmaster, sorry, I didn’t-“

“Ahh. Young Professor Oakley. How are you?” he asks.

You sniffle, “Could be better, Headmaster.” you say truthfully. You cross over to the barista station and begin to whip up your drink.

“Your eyes are red.” he observes, “I daresay you’ve been crying.”

“Rough afternoon.” you confess, avoiding his gaze. You steam the milk in the mug you’ve filled with it.

“Not with Severus?” he asks, “You seem to be quite friendly lately, so I’m surprised I’m finding you alone and not trailing his cloak hem.”

You stiffen and blink away the stinging sensation again. You spoon more cocoa powder than called for and begin to vigorously mix it.

“Oh my. Something must have happened between you. I admit Severus can be quite vicious if he’s upset or…how do you young wizards call it? ‘Triggered’.”

You force down the temper welling in your core and blink rapidly. You add a drop of peppermint extract into the drink and stir. You draw in a deep breath.

“He got upset with me because I…” you trail off, trying to figure out what to say that won’t reveal the fact that he’s adopted a kitten, “I started talking about Lilies. I love flower language so I was sharing a little bit of my insight on lilies and I got excited so I didn’t notice I was upsetting him and…the next thing I know he’s glaring at me and telling me to get out of his room…I don’t even know what I said that made him so upset.” 

"Ahh." Dumbledore tisks his tongue knowingly, "That will do it."

"I still don't understand why though." You reply, even more perplexed than before.

"You see, when he was going to Hogwarts, Severus had a friend named Lily Evans. In all my years of raising him, there was never another he cared for more than he cared for her."

This cues you in, so you bring your cocoa over to the table and sit across from him to listen. You take a long swig.

"What...happened?" You were almost afraid to ask because in the back of your mind you know.

"Lily Evans was Harry Potter’s mother,” Dumbledore says.

_.  _ Your heart lurches.  _ She was murdered by he-who-shall-not-be-named, so he lost her in more ways than one.  _ "Oh…that's awful..." you say breathily. Now, you feel even worse.

"It makes sense why he got so upset..." you realize. And then, you quickly start to get up, "I-I need to apologize to him I..."

"I would advise you to give him space. Just until the staff meeting."

"R-right..." you sigh deeply. That was going to be difficult, you knew. You and the Headmaster sit in silence.

"So, Kit, what play are you thinking of putting on this term?' He attempts to ease the awkward air.

"Something fun and classic. So I've planned for "Twelfth Night" in the fall, and then "Cinderella" in the spring." You answer, the slightest hint of excitement bleeding into your voice.

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. He presses you on, asking you specific questions in regards to both of the shows and your plans for each of them. Whether or not he's truly interested, you don't know, but the discussion lifts your mood considerably. You leave the teacher's lounge feeling much better.

However, within a few mere moments of being back in your dorm room, you're hit with the heavy weight of your situation with Snape again.

You don’t have much time to dwell on it though, because soon, a chubby boreal owl flies in through your open window, followed by a draft of cool outside air from the young night sky. This owl is not yours, but you recognize him as Sans. He is Eliza's owl.

He drops a letter on your bed and flops down lazily onto your bed, hoping to catch a few winks of sleep before he must transport your response.

You pick it up and read it.

* * *

_ "Hullo Kit! Would you like to grab dinner tomorrow night? Usual place? Around, say, 18:30? Me, Renee, and a couple others wanted to go out just because. Hope you can come!" _

~Eliza

* * *

Delighted at the thought of meeting up with your friends, you immediately respond.

* * *

_ That sounds wonderful, Eliza. I'll see you all then. _

~Kit 

* * *

You roll up the note and tie it with a ribbon. Then, you rouse Sans with a treat and tie the note to his leg. You send him off out your window again. You're about to close it, when Jareth flies in. He drops a dead mouse on your freshly made bed and then lands on it too. You turn your nose up in disgust.

"Charming..." you say, voice laced with sarcasm. You get he's trying to present you with a "gift" but...

You pinch your nose and cringe, picking up the dead rodent by the tail.

"Eww..." you're disgusted, but you also pity the poor rodent at the same time. You have to remind yourself that it's natural behavior.

"Thank you, but you can eat this."

You drop the mouse on the bottom of Jareth's cage, and he flies inside and begins to devour it. Then, you immediately go into the bathroom to wash your hands. You then go over to your desk and attempt to go over lesson plans and maybe write a bit, but your mind keeps wandering back to Snape. The heaviness returns to your shoulders and you can't focus.

You huff and slam your book shut. You put your quill back in its inkwell. You go to your wardrobe and pull open the doors. You flick through it with your fingers and then tug out a cloak. It's your old cloak from your school days, but it fits you still. You pull it over your shoulders. Then, you reach into the back of your wardrobe and pull out your humble, faithful broomstick.

"Jareth?" The owl looks up. There's no trace of the prey left on the floor of the cage. 

"I'm going for a flight. Are you coming?" You stick out a forearm and he hops up onto it. You hold onto his talons and then walk out of the door of your dorm.

You make your way down the staircases and pass the Great Hall. Once you're outside at the training grounds, you release Jareth into the air. He hovers above, waiting for you. Then, you mount your broom. It takes off abruptly, and you nearly fall from it. In an effort to catch balance, your arm is nearly pulled out of the socket.

"Whew! My goodness! I'm a bit rusty! I haven't done this as often as I'd like to." You laugh nervously. The broom jolts again. You nearly lose your balance a second time, and a few more times, until you get a feel for the momentum. You blush despite yourself and look up at Jareth, thinking he'd laugh at you if he could, because that was just how his personality was.

Eventually, your muscle memory kicks in, and after a short while, you're gliding around on your broomstick with ease. Jareth soars by your side.

You inhale the fresh, crisp scent of cool night air, and relish among the clear sky and glittering stars. The thin air feels much colder up here, and the wind buffets your hair and adds a layer of iciness to your face. You lean for a sharp turn, and then you proceed to take a few laps around the castle before you continue on.

Soon, you're above the glittering water of the loch. You fly downwards, hovering just above the water. You lean just slightly, letting your fingers grace the cool surface and stir up a wake of water behind you.

You fly over the bridge and towards Hagrid's place, and then soar above the densely packed trees of the forbidden forest. You turn to meet Jareth's gaze before he flaps his wings to get in front of you and then leans right. You follow him.

Your shadow passes across the moon. You fly over Hogsmeade. You and Jareth's bodies get illuminated by the lights from below and the stars surrounding you. You decide to go one-handed for a bit, and your fingers extend their reach to the stars above.

You laugh and cheer, letting the wind slap your face and dry your throat. Adrenaline and the feeling of freedom pump through you, and the air seems to whisk away your burdens, just for a moment.

You start to sing "Don't Rain on my Parade", dividing your attention between flying and performing, putting most of it into performing. You turn back around to head to the school again.

Your steering becomes slightly jerky as if you are under the influence. You have to swerve a few times to avoid hitting trees or...towers...(Thank the stars that no one else but you is out flying right now). 

You reach the last bit of chorus and belt very loudly “ _ Who told you you’re allowed to RAIN ON MY PARAAAAADDE—OOF!” _

Your ‘flawless’ note is cut short when you face plant into a rough cushion with a harsh thump. Your broom crashes into something, and a resounding clatter also echoes through the room. The broom lands on the floor with a thump.

“Ow.” You mutter into the cushion. You groan and lift your head. Your blinking eyes adjust to the dim light of the room and then, with a jolt, you’re suddenly aware of who’s room you landed in. You also notice the broken lamp on the floor, which has fallen from the table. Your stomach twists in on itself and you turn red. Your heart begins to race.  _ Shit, shit, shit! _

Immediately you scramble up and try to make for the door. “Severus, I—” You stumble towards it and nearly run into him. He is standing in the doorway holding a steaming cup of tea.

He huffs deeply when he sees you and rolls his eyes, “Only  _ you  _ would be clumsy enough to crash a broom into my dormitory.” He comments.

You turn an even darker shade of flush. Then you’re speaking before you can think. “Severus- this afternoon, I’m really sorry I didn’t know about—if I would have known I—” His gaze does not soften. It hardens.

“Known what?” he asks icily, “Let me guess, Dumbledore told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me that you were really good friends with Lily Evans before she passed away…b-but that’s really all he said. He didn’t go into much more detail than that. If I would have known that I wouldn’t have said those things about lilies and the flower language, I didn’t know it was such a sensitive topic, I…” you were stuttering and panicking all over again, “I’m sorry…” you say pitifully, emotions cracking in your tone. Then, you back towards the window and mount your broomstick, whisking out of the dorm before he can respond to you.


	3. Attention Division

III. Attention Division

Along with you, several others show up for dinner the next night. You walk through the doors of  _ The Three Broomsticks _ and look around.

“Kit!” you hear the familiar high-pitched tone of Eliza. Immediately you recognize her- curly hair cut to a bob, this time orange instead of green-tipped, and rocking the gothic aesthetic with red and black eyeshadow and matte black lipstick. Next to her is Renee, a tall, quiet girl with warm hazel eyes hiding behind rectangular glasses, and a brown braid highlighted with blonde. Beside the two of them is Cassian, with their curly blonde, middle-parted bowl cut, glasses, and short and curvy form. Beside Cas is Mauve. Next to Mauve is Orion. His blonde hair is in the familiar short-banged Caesar he’s worn for years, and his eyes glint with life. There are two empty spots, one of which is for you, and the other which is for Damocoles, who’s always late. 

“Hello, darlings!” you exclaim, walking over to join them all. You sit down. All of them look up and greet you in tandem and you join in the small talk. All of you laugh and joke for a while before there’s a short bout of silence.

“So, we’re waiting on Damo, I assume.” You say, glancing again at the empty seat on your other side, the one not next to Orion.

“He said he couldn’t come tonight. He’s working late.” Cas says.

“Ahh. I see. Shame. I wanted to see him.” you reply, “But, we can’t expect everyone to show up every time.” 

A murmur of agreement arises from the crowd. A waiter shows up to take orders.

“Can I start you off with drinks tonight?” he asks.

“Yeah, hi!” Eliza begins, “Can we get six butterbeers please?” 

“Sure thing.” He scribbles the order onto the notepad.

“Can we add six soda waters to that as well?” Orion adds.

“Of course.”  _ Scribble, scribble, scribble _ , “Would you folks like a few more moments with the menus or are you ready to order?”

“A few more minutes, please, if you don’t mind.” you answer.

“Of course. I’ll bring those butterbeers right back.” As he whisks off, all of you turn back to absorb yourselves in the conversation again. You reminisce about Hogwarts, discuss stories from work, the latest antics everyone has been up to, geeky things, music, and occasionally, wizard politics, but only for a short time.

-xXx-

Renee says something funny. You lean back in your chair and chuckle, sighing as contentment washes over you. The waiter returns with butterbeer and you place your dinner requests. 

You pick up the butterbeer mug and take a long drink. The warm, thick liquid goes smoothly down your throat, enveloping your taste buds with butterscotch. You lick the foam from your lips and set it down. 

“How’s everyone?” you ask.

Eliza sets her mug down on the table and wipes her face with a napkin, “Oh, you know, dying, but what else is new?” she answers, “What about you, Kit?”

“Oh, it’s going. I uhh…really screwed up, though.”

“Oh?” Cas’s expression piques with interest.

“What happened?” Renee asks worriedly.

“Everything okay?” Orion inquires, also concerned.

You draw in a breath, “Oh dear…”

“Kit?” Mauve drawls, “What did ya do?”

“Severus and I aren’t on speaking terms…” you continue.

“Oh shit.” Cas empathizes.

“Did ya finally get done with his bullshit and tell ‘im off?” Eliza tries to guess. Your gaze hardens. She raises her hands in response, “What? I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“I know, Eliza…I’m sorry…but basically,” you pause and take another swig of butterbeer, “I said something I really shouldn’t have said. It was insensitive but I didn’t realize what I was saying had a really sensitive situation attached to it…” You reiterate what happened.

-xXx-

“Ooo, ouch…” Eliza replies once you’ve finished, her expression wincing as she speaks. 

“Ouch is right.” Mauve agrees.

“How was I supposed to know!?” you groan, “I had no idea. If I had known I would have approached the situation differently.”

“It was an honest mistake, though,” says Renee, putting down her soup spoon with a soft clink.

“It’s not something you need to beat yourself up so horribly over,” Cas adds. They twirl pasta noodles on their fork and lift it to their mouth. 

“I mean, the best thing you can do is apologize, of course.” Eliza inputs.

“Yes. And explain that it was a misunderstanding. If he’s rational and clever like we know he is, then he shouldn’t take issue with forgiving you.” Renee says, “If he does, you weren’t really friends.”

“If he does, I’ll fight him.” Eliza threatens. You hold out a hand.

“No, please don’t…” you say, sighing again, “I didn’t even realize he was getting upset because I was so invested in what I was saying...”

“Yeah, you do have the tendency to kind of forget everything else when you’re passionate about something,” comments Eliza. 

“I tried to apologize already but when he found out that Dumbledore told me about Lily, he got even more upset.” You continue, “And of course I was a stuttering disaster when I tried to…and the circumstances weren’t the best…considering it was after I sort of crashed my broom in his dorm room…”

Silence.

“You crashed a _broom_ in Snape’s flat!?” Mauve echoes loudly.

“Aww…” Renee says.

Eliza and Cas exchange glances and then splutter with laughter. 

“Did you break anything?” Orion asks you.

“His side table lamp…and my already fragmented self-esteem.”

Eliza and Cas continue to laugh.

“It’s not even funny, this is serious!” you growl impatiently.

“I’m sorry,” Cas apologizes.

“But we can’t help it, we’re just picturing you face-planting and then Snape’s priceless expression.” Eliza continues.

You smile weakly, “I mean, I didn’t see it but I’m sure it was…” you say.

Orion does an impression and makes up some dialogue to go with it. This causes another eruption of laughter before Renee gets back to the matter at hand. 

“Were you hurt, Kit?” she asks.

“No. But embarrassed as all hell.” You huff, “I was embarrassed and I almost panicked. Today, I avoided him like the plague. I can’t even look at him without feeling horrible…and now I’m afraid I ruined whatever friendship we had.”

“You didn’t ruin it.” Renee replies, “One misunderstanding like that isn’t going to ruin anything.” 

“In all seriousness, hon,” Eliza starts, “I’d apologize again. This time in a less embarrassing circumstance.”

“Dumbledore told me to give him some space until the staff meeting next week.”

“He’s probably right, honestly,” Cas reasons, “But if I were you, I’d wait for after the staff meeting, when you can catch him in a quiet, and neutral mood.”

“Mmm. A person like that needs time to calm down and reflect on things.” Eliza says, “If you say anything to him now, you’ll probably get a cold and aggressive response. Let it blow over for a few days, as hard as it’s going to be. And also, I’m not saying to send him another letter, especially after he told you last year he wants you to talk to him face-to-face, but write down what you want to say to him and rehearse it.”

“Take some deep breaths beforehand, too. And smell some relaxing scents before you go in.” Renee adds, “That’ll help.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up too much about it, and try not to panic, you’ll be fine.” Mauve offers.

“We believe in you!” Orion finishes, “You can do it!”

“Thanks guys.” You smile, feeling warm inside and basking in the support. It’s lifted your wary spirits some.

“So, tell us about your plays.” Eliza changes the subject to pull your mind away from its pressing matters.

“Righto, okay!” you begin an animated description of your plans and everything surrounding them. That leads you to a discussion about Gilderoy Lockhart starting at Hogwarts, and then the discussion ends with hearing about Orion’s wedding plans for next year. 

You finish your dinner, pay on separate tabs, take a couple of group photos, and then hug everyone goodbye before you all go your separate ways again.

It’s quite late when you get back to your dorm, and you take a shower, and fall asleep, feeling much more light-hearted than before.

At the staff meeting a few days later, you sit across from Severus and barely glance at him while you’re waiting for it to start. Every time you look up at him, you flush deeply, and then turn your face away, trying to ignore the burning of his gaze upon you. You poke at your food with the silver in your clammy hand and take a sip of tea. You scan your gaze around the table. Every other staff member is there but the new hire, Gilderoy Lockhart. You keep darting your gaze towards the door, the familiar feeling of churning nerves and pounding heart echoing in your head. You shuffle in your chair and adjust the sleeve of your lilac robes. Not feeling up for conversation yourself, you resort in listening to the murmurs around the table. The meeting hadn’t started yet, because Lockhart was late. 

Suddenly, the door bursts open and in enters Gilderoy Lockhart with his curly, blonde hair, charming smile, and shining blue eyes that match the robes he’s wearing. Your heart flutters.  _ Stars, he’s  _ **_gorgeous._ **

_ I suppose he’s fashionably late.  _ You decide when you see him. You use this internal comment to mask your internal ogling and desire to squeal like the fan you are. 

“Good morning everyone!” he exclaims, “So sorry I’m late! I spent the morning answering fan letters and time slipped away from me!”

“No harm done, Lockhart,” says Dumbledore from the head of the table, “Please take a seat so we can begin. There’s an empty spot right next to Professor Oakley.”

You stiffen and feel your flush growing hotter. He pulls the seat out and then takes a seat beside you. You adjust yourself and pull up your pesky sleeve again before you take a deep breath and turn to look up at him.

“H-hi…” you say softly.

“Morning!” he smiles brightly, “I must say what charming robes you have on. You know, lilac is my favorite color!”

_ I knew that… _ you think bashfully.

“Oh…th-thank you. I like your blue ones. They match your eyes.” You tell him.

“Ha ha! Thank you, I know!” he replies.

Dumbledore clears his throat. The two of you stop talking and turn to give him your attention. As you turn to face him, you catch Snape’s gaze. He rolls his eyes at you. Your shoulders sink. Dumbledore begins his usual spiel. You’re only half-listening. You’re torn between approaching Snape after the meeting is up and trying to cultivate friendship between you and the celebrity dream boat beside you. Snape’s judgmental expression has discouraged you from speaking to him, yet again. You convince yourself, even after the meeting that it’s not the best time.

-xXx-

When the meeting is over, the Hogwarts staff all disperse, including Severus, who is out of the room before you can even attempt to catch him. With a look of longing, you watch him leave, feeling sad and defeated. You glance at Lockhart beside you. He’s combing his hair through the hand mirror, meticulously getting it to stand just the way he wants it to.

“E-excuse me, Professor Lockhart?”

“Mmm?”

“Sorry…it’s just…I’m a huge fan of yours and I have all your books- I-I’ve read them all so many times, they’re among my favorites. So, I was wondering if…” you twiddle your hands in your lap, “If you could sign them for me?”

“Absolutely. I’ll sign them for you, no charge.” He says. Your heart soars.

“Thank you so much!” you exclaim, “Would you be okay signing them now if I popped into my office to grab them?”

“If you can make it quick, of course. As I do have my own business to get to.”

“Of course! I understand. I’ll be right back!” You leave the room and rush up to your office, grab your books, and return to Lockhart with your fancy, hard-cover box set.

“Wonderful. I see you’ve kept them in prime condition. As they should be!” he comments. He dips his massive peacock feather quill into his inkwell and pulls the first book over to him.

“And who should I make this out to?” he asks.

“Umm…Kit Oakley.” You say. And thus, he begins to scribble his signature into each of the books one by one.

“There you are, Kit Oakley. It’s wonderful to meet such a fan of mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to take care of in my office.” And then he leaves the staffroom in a flourish of bright blue robes, leaving you to gawk after him.

-xXx-

You and Lockhart run into one another a couple of days later. There he says,

“You know, I just now realized why your name rang a bell for me. Professor Kit Oakley. The Hogwarts drama teacher. You became something of a celebrity last year with your plays.”

“Well I…sort of I suppose but—”

He laughs, “It’s nice to have someone who shares a similar prowess as I do. Two celebrities working as teachers! What publicity! Tell me, have you ever thought of putting on a play version of one of my books? Of course, if that happened, I would have to star in it, naturally, as myself.”

“If the book had a script, it might be possible.” You say rationally, “Of course, a script would have to be written, then go through edits, and I’d need to confirm with the Headmaster that it would be alright to do that…” you trail off. He starts talking again.

“I’ve already considered so many visions and plans for the spectacle. Come, let’s go for a cuppa, and I’ll tell you all about it. As a fan of mine, I’m sure you’d be delighted to hear~ who wouldn’t be.” He’s pulling you down the corridor by the arm before you can protest.

“Lockhart, I have—”

“Of course, you have work to do, so do I. We’ve both been working tirelessly for the past few days, we could use a break.”

_Please help me, Severus…_ You think pitifully. However, at the same time, your fan’s heart soars. Because of a strange happenstance, you’ve somehow landed a lunch with a celebrity dreamboat.

You are so busy ogling Lockhart at the café, you barely notice that he’s hardly listening to a word you’re saying. He would go off on tangents about this vision and that scene and this set piece and those costumes. This spectacle, this spotlight, how a musical number would sound…

You offering your creative suggestions seems to just fuel the fire. You admire how passionate and animated he is, but at the same time the self-obsessive tone of all of it is exhausting. Even when you do give suggestions, they seem to go in one ear and out the other. But, as a fan, you enjoy it at the same time. You find it interesting to hear from his perspective. You observe the arrogance, but you try not to think much of it. 

A fangirl, giddy and shy, approaches the table, asking for a photo, an autograph. Lockhart smiles, laughs, and honors her request. She glares at you before walking away. 

_What?_ you think bitterly. It wasn’t as if this was a date. In fact, you didn’t technically agree to be here right now. He just dragged you along, assuming you’d want to have lunch with him. Which, you know, you kind of did, although you’d never say that out loud, though. 

* * *

By the time the beginning of the term rolls around, you’ve become something of “friends” with Lockhart, and evidently, you seem to be the only one who can tolerate his narcissism and impulsiveness. It is exceedingly difficult for you to recognize the extent of Lockhart’s self-obsession because you still have a celebrity crush on him. If he was rude to his fans, you’d strongly despise him, but since he isn’t, well, you can let his narcissistic tendencies slide. You’re quite enamored with him and oftentimes you find your fan’s heart eagerly fueling his ego.

You trail him like a faithful dog, and he loves getting your attention. As for Snape, well, you still haven’t talked to him…yet…you’ve been meaning to, but between dividing your attention between lesson planning and an attention-craving Lockhart…you haven’t got around to it. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t procrastinating. 

You’re reading a newspaper at the High Table. Or, rather, you act like you’re reading it. You’re in between Lockhart and Snape, and the tension between the black-haired potions master and yourself is thicker than London fog. You’ve been avoiding him, in favor of tagging along with Lockhart. Judging by the aura you sense from him, you think it’s only making him more upset with you. You meet gazes with him for a fleeting second, which you immediately use to read into his expression. There are two emotions you get from it—bitterness and sadness.

You turn away, guilt turning your stomach over itself.  _ I still feel horrible about the whole situation…and I’ve let this tension persist without saying anything to him…the resentment is sure to build up in him towards me…and then I’ll be miserable…if I don’t apologize…but he’s still upset with me, I’m sure…he holds grudges and I…he’s giving me mixed signals how am I supposed to… _

You feel his gaze burning through the newspaper.

“If you’re done pretending to read,” he drawls, “I’ll take that. I saw something I need to inspect closer.” You stiffen and then slowly lower the paper from your face. You hand it to him, murmuring a brief,  _ “Sure, alright…”  _ With a loud rustle of paper, he takes it from you and starts to scrutinize one of the pages. From your peripheral vision, and with a jolt, you realize the article he is looking at has to do with Muggles noticing a flying car.

_ Uh oh.  _ You warily glance at Severus, observing the slow twist of anger in his face.

“Potter!” he spits, the sound of pure disdain in his voice. And then he gets up from the High Table and storms off.

“Don’t mind him, he’s always been distastefully moody,” Lockhart comments from beside you. Then he tugs lightly on your arm, leaning into your bubble, “He’ll get over himself. Let him be, pay attention to  _ me. _ ” Your attention is once again torn. You smile at Gilderoy, but you feel a mild spark of irritation at both the blonde author and at yourself. Another missed opportunity.

When you turn back to face the Great Hall and dining students, you witness the brooding Potions Master leading a nervous Harry and Ron back to his office.  _ Uh oh… _

-xXx-

Minutes later, Snape throws open the double doors again and storms across the walkway towards the High Table.

“Headmaster, Minerva, Potter and that dunderhead Ronald Weasley deserve severe punishment for being seen by muggles in a flying car and crashing into and damaging the Whomping Willow.” He says bitterly. The two of them exchange glances, before getting up and following him to his office. Your stomach curls with empathy for a moment, before you decide that the boys will be dealt with fairly and there’s nothing to worry about. You turn back to your food, a part of you eagerly awaiting the return of the three of them.

When they do, Severus looks incredibly displeased. And so, your discussion is put off for another day. 


	4. Murmurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Slight, and I mean SLIGHT sexual content abounds. It's nothing too explicit, I promise. I'm not into the explicit sexytimes. I'm more into the ambiguous and poetic kind.

IV. Murmurs

Whispers. Murmurs. They echo throughout the corridors and repeat like mantras in your muddled head. _Professor Oakley seems really out of it recently. Almost forgot to collect our homework the other day. Weird._

_Yeah, they Mistranslated a poem we looked over in Ancient Runes. It had to be corrected by a student._

_Professor Oakley is very jumpy and very distracted._

_In class today, Professor Oakley looked exhausted._

Your train of thought is making harsh stops.

_Something must have happened between Professor Oakley and Professor Snape. They were always together and talked at meals every day until recently. Professor Snape’s been harsher than usual. They aren’t around each other anymore. Don’t even talk. Professor Oakley’s been going around with Professor Lockhart lately._

_You think they’ve become attached? It sure seems that way. No idea. Not my place to assume. Do they fancy one another? I don’t know. Ha. As if. Professor Lockhart only fancies himself._

_Typical narcissist. Using someone else’s energy and “praise” to fuel his own ego. I sure hope Professor Oakley isn’t attached to him. Yeah. Professor Oakley’s too nice. Deserves better._

-xXx-

You throw your quill back into your inkwell and slam your face against the desk, letting out a flustered “UGGGH!” It is impossible to focus on anything with all these murmurs and distractions buzzing around your brain. Your face smears the ink on your soiled parchment. You glance in the mirror nearby. There’s a grayish smear where you “kissed” the wet page.

You glance over your shoulder at Jareth’s empty perch and cage. It’s well into the evening, and he has gone for his night flight, which is a shame, because you could really use his comfort right now. You’ve got that familiar sinking feeling, which you’ve become accustomed to for the past month. You drag your heavy-weighted shoulders, followed by the rest of your fatigued body, into the bathroom and go to the sink. You run hot water and use it to clean the ink from your face. The ink turns a watery gray color, and when you perceive yourself in your scratched looking glass, you see it running down your cheeks in meandering rivers like inky tears. Your hair is a disaster, sticking out on all ends and tangled with stress from ruffling. Your eyes are sunken in, and your frown is deep, your brows furrowed. This is what procrastinating and stress does to you.

-xXx-

You sit in Dumbledore’s office. He’s studying you with curious eyes beneath his bushy brows and above his hooked nose. You shuffle uncomfortably. You had been called in. You knew it was your poor performance, someone reported you. You’re positive you’ll be fired so your stomach churns with dread, and your head is pounding with stress.

“Kit,” Dumbledore begins, face stern, “Some students and staff have come to me concerning you. They tell me they’ve seen a decrease in your quality of work, that you seem disconnected and disinterested in your classes, and that you’ve been late to class a handful times, always looking groggy and disheveled.”

You avert your gaze in shame, nodding slowly along.

“You are not in any sort of trouble. Those who have reported to me are more so worried about your well-being.” He continues, “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

You slowly glance up, fighting the stinging behind heavy eyes. “No…it’s just…there’s a lot on my mind. The work and murmurs are getting to me, is all. And…” you trail off. You think it pointless to go on about the situation with Severus, because you have a feeling Dumbledore knows, because he always knows.

This is further proven by his thoughtful hum your response gets from him.

“So, I see,” he says, “I advise you to use this coming weekend to rest. Give yourself time, don’t grade papers, leave the school and stay with one of your friends if you must. I understand there is a lot on your mind, however, it cannot continue to affect your work the way it does.”

Your heart lurches, “I understand, sir.” You say.

He smiles softly, “Good, good! That is all.”

“Thank you…” you nod and then get up to leave his office.

“Kit?” he calls. You stop at the door and turn back.

“Yes sir?”

“Severus is going to be in his office for the rest of the evening, I’d wager.” he says. Subtext: _Perhaps you should pay a visit to him._

“Thank you for the information, Headmaster.”

“Take care.”

-xXx-

You have to muster up the courage which nearly got you sorted into Gryffindor to actually get your lead-filled feet to go down into the cold, musty dungeons. Your stomach is tangled into knots, and your head is empty. Your hands are clammy, and your jeans and jumper feel very constricting. You tug at the hem of the sweater again.

Your feet echo across the silent hall. You reach the closed door. You take several deep breaths. _Okay. Kit, you can do this._ Inhale. 1…2…3…4…hold. Exhale. 5…6…7…8…Repeat…Good. Inhale. Count 1,2,3,4. Hold. Exhale. 5,6,7, 8. Lovely. Repeat…

You raise your clammy fist and rap on the door. There’s silence for a few painful moments, forcing you to listen to the steady acceleration of your heartbeat. You knock again.

This time, you hear movement from the other side of the door. When he opens it and sees you, his eyes narrow, and his gaze hardens.

You gulp and shuffle uncomfortably.

“Oh, look who it is,” he drawls, “Finally discovered how much of an arrogant imbecile Lockhart is and gotten tired of him I presume? And it’s sent you running back to me.”

You sigh, and begin, “No. That isn’t—Please it isn’t what you think. That isn’t what I came in here to talk about. Can you give me a few minutes of your time?”

“Fine but hurry up. I haven’t got all night.” He steps aside and you enter the office. He closes the door behind you.

You draw in another breath, “It’s about what happened in your room before the term started.”

“There’s no debate, you’re paying for that lamp you broke.” Snape says.

“No, I know. I’m talking about…before that…with your kitten and…” you trail off, “I just…” you feel stinging behind your eyes, “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I just felt so guilty about what happened, and I was terrified to confront you. You immediately closed yourself off from me again and told me to go away…s-so I listened. I gave you some space. But I think I might have given you too much space…I let it fester and it’s been eating away at me ever since…” you trail off, and draw in another deep breath, your voice trembles slightly, “What I want to say is I’m so, so, so sorry. I got very excited about my tangent about flower language and I wasn’t paying attention to how it was affecting you. I didn’t know about…you know…if I had I never would have said any of those things. And…a-and I want you to know how sorry I am…” you turn away as tears leak from your eyes, “I’m sorry…”

There’s a long silence of deep breathing and heavy tension while you try to compose yourself and Snape, no doubt, is trying to think of what to say.

And then, his voice cuts into the air, “You should be.”

You stiffen. You brace yourself. You’re about to hear it.

“Stop crying. Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you.” he demands. You comply. You slowly look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are swirling with a cacophony of feeling hiding behind bitterness.

“I told you at the end of last year to talk to me face-to-face when you have something to tell me. I would have thought you’d listened. But of course, I can’t really expect that, now can I? Why didn’t you come and talk to me sooner? Why did you let the issue carry on for over a month afterward, leaving me to make my judgements as you know I do?” his voice is not angry. It is exasperated, solemn, and frustrated, “If we’re friends, we should be passed this codswallop by now. But you haven’t given me that impression. Instead, I got ignored and pushed aside, in favor of someone else. Someone arrogant and idiotic, stuck-up, and selfish.”

You continue weakly, “I-I felt like I couldn’t approach you. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. I thought maybe I’d gotten too close, and I was overbearing so it made you afraid to open up to me. I didn’t want to push my boundaries even further and risk...ruining things more.” 

“Perhaps if you would have waited for me to respond to you and listened to what I had to say instead of running away like an embarrassed schoolgirl as soon as you apologized to me, then we could have worked this out earlier!” he growls, glaring, “But no. What did you do instead? You jumped to conclusions and you left before I could respond. And then you spent a month avoiding me!”

“I--” you hang your head and nervously dig your fingers into clammy palms.

“It makes me think you’re just like everyone else. I tried to facilitate a relationship with you, because I thought you were different from them, but lately, I’m not so sure that you are. You judge me just as harshly as the rest of the damn school.”

“I don’t mean to be judgmental, I...I tend to overreact and jump to conclusions because of my…I ran away because, because I was really embarrassed and I...I was afraid that you would lash out at me. I’m really sensitive and I didn’t want to be hurt more when I already felt awful about the whole situation…”

“Didn’t want to be-- how SELFISH are you?”

You wince.

“You’re worse than Lockhart!” he snaps.

There’s a sting in your chest.

“What you’ve just told me is that you can’t make yourself vulnerable to me…but yet, you want me to let you in through the gates of my walls and make myself vulnerable to you!? How _dare_ you! In case you haven’t noticed, I have made myself very vulnerable by trying to facilitate a relationship with someone else, and to hear from you that you’re afraid to be “hurt” by me is--”

“No, I said that wrong…that’s not…that’s not what I…”

“You’re just as closed off as I am, then, and it’s wrong of you to expect me to open up to you when you can’t even open up to me!” he says, “You’ve got this narrow-minded opinion of me that you never want to be changed by my actions. You’re fond of me, but only fond of a small part of me, and too afraid to come to terms with the side of me that you don’t want to see!”

“No that’s not-- no! It was going really well between the two of us and so I thought that maybe I managed to find your soft side, and I was feeling really confident about us, and at the time of the flower language thing, I didn’t know about the whole...so when you suddenly lashed out at me, I panicked because I couldn’t understand why and it made me afraid of you again. I thought I’d overstepped my boundaries...You’re harsh and judgemental when someone gets too close to you. Going in to making friends with you, I knew that, but it didn’t stop me from trying!” you reply, “B-but when you’re a sensitive person like me it’s very hard to be on the receiving end of those qualities and take them without getting upset...and wh-when I get upset I get defensive. I didn’t want to hurt you even more by saying something I regretted...I felt terrible about breaking your lamp, and terrible about triggering you with something stupid I said, so I thought I shouldn’t be in your presence. I thought I didn’t deserve for you to accept my apology when I had just screwed up even more, so I ran...”

“It was a bloody LAMP for STARS SAKE!” he yells, “It can be replaced! It’s an object! I don’t care about the stupid thing! But what I do care about is this so-called “friendship”! No, I shouldn’t have lashed out at you, especially when you couldn’t have possibly known that what you said was triggering to me. And I was going to tell you that, but you ran off before I could speak!”

“I’m sorry…” you say voice shaking, “…But I…I got scared away…you’re scary when you’re upset…and I…I felt like I was being shut out.”

“I shut _you_ out!? Did you ever think, perhaps, that you’re not the only one who feels shut out!?” he demands, “You left before I could say anything to you, making me feel like you didn’t care what I had to say.”

“Of course, I care what you have to say! Y-You know I do! I always listen to you.”

“If you ‘always’ listened to me you wouldn’t have run off before I got the chance to talk to you and spent the last month avoiding and replacing me!”

“I didn’t replace you! No one could ever replace you, Severus! N-not to me!” 

“Apparently Lockhart can!” he yells, “You’ve avoided me for over a month in favor of philandering with that imbecile. Let me tell you something, Kit. He doesn’t _care_ about you. He doesn’t _care_ about anyone or anything but himself! To him you’re nothing but a damn groupie!”

Anger bubbles over, and the heat rises inside you. “Groupie!? Philandering!?” you snap, “ _Philandering!?_ I would never give myself to someone I barely know! Especially someone like Lockhart! Excuse me for thinking you didn’t want me around and excuse me for deciding I didn’t deserve to be around you because I felt guilty for hurting you!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me!” he growls, “Look, you insolent dunderhead. If I didn’t want you around me, you would have known it.” Snape continues, a bite in his tone, “I would have told you to stop bothering me. I would have treated you as harshly as I treat the imbeciles I teach.”

“You told me to “get out”!” The aura I’ve gotten from you since then has told me to stay away! For the past month, every time I’ve looked at you, your eyes are cold and uninviting! I’ve never seen them that way before—not directed to me! I thought you didn’t want me around!” There are tears in your eyes again, but this time they’re from frustration.

“Again, why didn’t you say anything about it!? Didn’t your friend Eliza tell you I have walls built to the stars? At the very least I would have thought you’d figured that out by now and learned to see past them.” He growls, “If you’re unclear, you ask a question.” His teeth grit, “You’re a teacher, every teacher knows that.”

“I was afraid of how you’d react! I was afraid to be hurt by someone I cared for so much. Afraid that you would respond to me with bitter aggression in the same way you respond to anyone else that says even two words to you! You want to know why? Because you’re mean! You’re mean, Severus!” You trail off, continue, “…Tell me why! Why are you so mean!? I can’t understand how someone can be so cruel!” You bite your lip, drawing a trickle of blood, and you force back those pesky tears.

He grits his teeth, “In case you haven’t realized, the world is cruel. And only those who are cruel back can properly survive in it. I could never expect a naïve little Hufflepuff, who’s idealistic and whimsical, and oh so ‘patient’ and oh so ‘kind’, to _ever_ make sense of that fact. Let me enlighten you—good in everything doesn’t exist. Your kind-heartedness is sickening.”

Oh. Now you’re _very_ angry. “Insulting _me_ is one thing, but insulting _my house_ is another thing entirely. Don’t you ever! Ever…” your voice breaks, you’re red in the face. “…Use the strengths of a house against anything! I don’t insult Slytherin, do I? NO! The rest of society may, but I don’t! In fact, I’m quite fond of your house. But still, I would never say anything negative about Ravenclaw or Gryffindor!” 

“You’re an idiot, Kit Oakley.” He states simply.

“And you’re an asshole.” You respond, exasperated, “I came in here to apologize, to right my wrongs…but clearly, you’re grudge-holding tendencies make you unable to see past them. So, I’ll see myself out now.”

“By all means, then, walk away. Piss off. I don’t care.”

And so, you turn and make for the door. You’re one foot outside before you turn back to face him. When you meet gazes, your eyes are stinging. And even though his eyes are burning with rage, they’re red and misty. You want to say something, but your throat is raw and dry from shouting. So, you slam the door behind you, and you give in to the tears you’ve been holding back. They blind your gaze as you race down the hall, back to your dorm. When you’re inside, Jareth is not back yet. You’re stiff with cold as a chill falls over you.

-xXx-

You sob into your pillow for several minutes, your body shakes, your shoulders tremble, and sobs wrack your body until your throat is dry and you’ve cried your tears to dust.

-xXx-

Time passes. You look up at the clock on the wall. It’s half-passed midnight. The pub is open. Your mouth feels dry, and you can almost taste the burning alcohol. It sounds delightful right now, you could use something to numb all your feelings. You grab your coat. It’s autumn again. The air has grown cold. You push open the door of your dorm. You peer around the corner. The hallway is dark and empty. You step out. Then you run into Lockhart.

“Evening Oakley,” he says, “Off to the pub as well?”

“Where else would I be going if not there? Nothing else is open.” You reply, harsher than you intend.

“Oh my, aren’t you fussy. I get fussy after a rough evening as well.”

You sniffle and wipe your puffy eyes, “How do you know I had a rough evening?”

“I’m quite intuitive and your face isn’t hard to read.” He replies, “Let us go together. Two celebrities at a pub. How appropriate.”

You shrug, “Why not. I have nothing else to lose. I want to get shit-faced.” Lockhart laughs and claps you on the back.

“It’s Friday. But I don’t want my reputation tainted if I get caught drinking myself to oblivion and acting like an uncivilized scoundrel.”

“Only a couple drinks then?”

“Ahh. Sounds more like something I would do, I like it better.”

And so, you end up at the _Leaky Cauldron._

-xXx-

With the help of a couple drinks, you start to feel more lighthearted. In the dim, smoky light of the bar, his smile, eyes, and hair, are lovely. The two of you start to flirt and fool around. He murmurs something mischievous about the Devil’s Tango. 

This pulls you back into reality for a second, and you shy away slightly. You take another sip from your drink and give him a sidelong glance. He’s very handsome. So you certainly wouldn’t mind. Especially since you hadn’t danced the Devil’s Tango yet. And here’s this gorgeous celebrity dreamboat with sparkling eyes in front of you, asking you to do the dirty dance with him. 

You’d be an idiot to pass this one up. And so, you eagerly let him pull you along to an inn room.

* * *

The small inn room surrounds you. The lights are dim. Street clothes pool down in heaps upon the floor as you both wrestle them off and heavy breathing fills the musty air. You see Lockhart smiling at you, his blue eyes glinting. It’s a bit chilly in the room, but the chilliness is masked by sweat on flushed skin. His hand gropes beneath your bare thigh, to hold you while you straddle him. You fall onto the mattress, the pillows, the duvet, and you willingly let him get on top of you, embracing desire and ecstasy. 

* * *

The next morning you wake up in his bed with frigid air rising gooseflesh on bare shoulders. His bright colored robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed. The shower is on.

The first thing you realize is that, physically, you feel a release. But, that aside, the guilt clawing its way through you is way more prominent. Now, you were an absolute hypocrite. You start to panic. You turn over in bed and curl up in a ball under the blankets. You pray to the stars that the press hadn’t noticed anything. The last thing you needed on your burdened shoulders was involvement in a Lockhart scandal.

The shower turns off. You hear quiet singing inside. Within a few moments, Lockhart enters the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. His wet blonde hair is plastered to his face, and his pale, tastefully toned body glints with water droplets. He stretches his arms and paces around the room. He yawns contently. “Wonderful morning.” He says, glancing out the window. His blue eyes glint when he looks at you.

“Ahh. I’d say along with being an incredibly talented author I am also one hell of a lover, wouldn’t you agree with me, Kit?”

“I…” Of course, you remember what happened. The one good thing, you supposed, was that he hadn’t let the two of you get impaired enough to completely dull your judgment, because he didn’t want his own reputation to suffer for it.

“I’d never been with anyone that way before, so I have no basis for comparison.” You respond. When you say that you stiffen. And then your mind is screaming.

_I lost my f**king virginity to GILDEROY LOCKHART!!! I lost my f**king virginity to Gilderoy Lockhart. Oh god. Oh god. I am a philanderer! No…No! I was…I was saving myself for…oh but that’s ruined now. Soiled it. Soiled it. Soiled my chances! If Severus hears of this…_

“Eh, you don’t need one!” he says, waving a nonchalant hand, “No one could ever satisfy you like I can, what with me being, well, me.”

“Right…” you trail off.

“Come on, get dressed. Let’s go for breakfast! My treat. Wait until my fans hear about this one!” 

“Wait, Gilderoy—please don’t share this!” you beg in desperation. 

“I’d never share such private matters of sexual nature. I mean that I’m going to share how I’ve got myself a lover now. The press will bask in it once they see how well I treat you!” 

_And your fans will hate me. I don’t want this attention…I don’t want this attention. I’m a theatre teacher, but just because I’m a theatre teacher doesn’t mean I want to be media focus!_

“Gilderoy, please…” he’s not listening.

“Step lively, darling!” he beams, “We’ve got breakfast waiting!” You comply, hesitantly.

* * *

Once you’ve finally escaped Lockhart, you’ve apparated to Eliza’s flat. In a place as safe as this one, you let yourself go. You don’t do anything to hold back all your dread and worries and everything else.

“I f**ked up, I f**ked up, I f**ked up!” you’re stuttering and speaking in tandem with your racing heart. You can’t comprehend anything beyond those three words because you’re overstimulated.

Her hands find your shoulders and squeeze. “Pause.” She says, “Take a breath.” She says. You breathe. She rubs your shoulders. Inhale. 1…2…3…4…hold…Release…5…6…7…8…Repeat. Good. Inhale. 1…2…3…4…hold…Release…5…6…7…8…Repeat. Good. Inhale. 1…2…3…4…hold…Release…5…6…7…8…Repeat. Good. Inhale. 1…2…3…4…hold…Release…5…6…7…8…Repeat. Good.

You feel yourself slowly begin to calm and process. She hugs you tight. Pulls away. “Do you want tea?”

“Yes please.”

“I made some soup as well.”

“I’ll take it.”

-xXx-

You lay on the sofa, borrowing her Walkman to listen to music for a short time while she’s moving about in the kitchen. You close your eyes. Let Elvis embrace you. She returns. She sets the soup and the two cuppas on the coffee table in front of her. She sits down in front of you. The two of you sit in silence. She lets you drink and eat. The warmth from the tea and the soup relaxes you and envelopes you with warmth, despite the cold in her two-bedroom flat. 

“Whenever you’re ready to explain what happened,” she says, “I’m ready to listen.” You exhale.

Once you’ve drained your soup bowl, you tell her everything. Your dwindled quality of work. Your restless stress. Getting a warning from Dumbledore. Your confrontation with Snape. Then you finish with the fact that you slept with Gilderoy Lockhart. 

“Well, alcohol and sex is never a good idea.” She comments dryly, “But at the same time I understand why you did that. That would never be my way of relieving stress, but it makes sense. It was still stupid, don’t get me wrong. But we all make mistakes.”

“We didn’t even have that much…but I still felt silly. And I made a stupid decision. That makes me such a hypocrite. I told Snape there was nothing going on between Lockhart and I and now…”

She puts a hand out, “I’m going to stop you right there.” She says, “Technically, there still isn’t. The two of you had a one-night stand. That doesn’t really mean there’s anything there. People have casual shags all the time.”

“It wasn’t “casual” for Lockhart. Now he’s convinced we’re lovers and is perfectly fine with telling people that. He’s the subject of such media attention and now I’m going to be. I don’t want that! I never wanted that! He doesn’t listen to me when I try to tell him that either. I go along with it because I don’t want to risk bigger trouble. He could use his reputation to ruin me.”

“He’s a self-absorbed dumbass, I’ve told you a million times. He doesn’t care what other people think. He doesn’t care about other people’s feelings.” Eliza scoffs, “And the fact that he’s declared the two of you lovers is downright harassment. You need to report him if he’s bothering you. He’s an attention whore. He’d love that.”

“No, no! I don’t wanna cause trouble.”

“Your well-being is more important, idiot.” Eliza scoffs, “You don’t even want to be with Lockhart, anyway, isn’t that right?”

“I-I don’t know, Liza. I really don’t know anymore. The more I’m around him, the less I can stand him. And he only cares about attention, his fame, his reputation…but at the same time, he’s such a looker and…I enjoy his flamboyance…still…”

“He’s using you for attention. You’re nothing to him but an object. That’s not healthy, it’s a form of abuse, Kit. It can’t go on. But Snape, on the other hand? Based on what you’ve said, I think he genuinely cares about you, even though he’s terrible at showing it.”

“I…” You can’t think of anything to say. You know she’s right.

“Look, I can’t speak for you, but I can create theories about this based on my own observations. I think you’re using Lockhart as a coping mechanism.” She says honestly, “You’ve been having a lot of trouble with Snape lately, and the two of you just got into a huge disagreement. It makes sense why you’d focus on someone else for the time being. You’re denying your feelings and masking your pain. This is a habit of yours, Kit. You know it as much as I do. You need to get away from Lockhart, and you need to patch up your issues with Snape if you want things to work out between you two.”

“What do I even do…”

“I just told you what you should do.”

“No…I mean where do I start? I’m so tired I…and I can’t think straight.”

“You start by going in my bathroom and soaking in a long, hot bath. Clear your head and relax. Then go to sleep. Then, you can stay here for the rest of the weekend. You need to be away from Hogwarts for a bit. You should be able to think rationally and come up with a plan once you’ve had some time away. And if you want, I can get Mauve, Renee, and Cas over here as well. And we can all come up with some potential plans, okay?”

“Thanks, Eliza, it means a lot.”

“Of course.” She hugs you again, “I’ll leave you to it.” She leads you into the bathroom and shows you where everything is. She starts to leave but then turns to glance over her shoulder again, “I think you should write to Stella, too. She might be all over the place and doing her own thing lately, but when you’re desperate like this, 90% of the time she’s there for you in an instant.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” you say, “You’re right, Lyze. When I get out of the shower, I’m gonna go back to Hogwarts to grab some things, and to pick up Jareth.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Sure. That’d be wonderful.” You reply.

“Then, we can stop in Hogsmeade to see Mauve.”

“Sure.”

* * *

Of course, Dumbledore was right in suggesting you take a weekend away from Hogwarts. Stella appeared in Eliza’s living room the next day, whisking you off for brunch and some one-on-one therapy. Then, you had had an in-depth discussion with Eliza, Mauve, Renee, and Cas, and all the different perspectives working together had helped you come up with a well synthesized plan. When you return, you find yourself refreshed and with a much clearer head. The thought of acting on what you discussed still tugs your nerves, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. OOF! Ouch. This was the most difficult and one of the two most emotionally draining chapters I have ever had to write. Our poor protagonists had quite the "lover's spat", didn't they? We'll have to see what's in store for them. Hopefully, everything works out soon. But it'll get worse before it gets better.


	5. The Weight of Gilderoy's Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a mild depiction of an abusive relationship. If this is something that is triggering for you, you can scroll to the notes at the end for the summary.

V. The Weight of Gilderoy’s Gravity

One morning, there’s a knock on your dorm room door. Groggily, you get up from your bed and tie a dressing-gown about yourself. You shuffle over to your door and open it up. There’s Lockhart, standing there, with his charming smile. You blink your heavy eyelids. 

“Gilderoy, what are you doing? It’s six-thirty AM on a weekend.” you say. 

“I know. I’ve come to take you out for breakfast.” 

“T-that’s not necessary, we can eat a perfectly wonderful and complimentary breakfast here on campus.” you say, “I haven’t got enough money to go out spending it on meals every weekend.” 

“Oh, but I do!” he says cheerfully, “Come along, let me treat you!” he exclaims loudly, voice resonating across the hallways.

“Gilderoy, please, I’m—” you make a move to turn away, “I appreciate the offer but it’s very early, I’d really much rather get back to sleep…” you turn to go back into your room, trying to avoid looking at his charming face, but the loud and unwanted rumble of your stomach resonates in the quiet air. 

He raises an eyebrow, “Oh my, would you listen to that? I think someone’s stomach would rather go out and have a nice breakfast instead of going back to bed.” 

“I…” 

“Oh, you’re so adorable when you’re playing coy, darling.” he says, lightly pinching your cheek. You flush red, “Come, have breakfast with me…please? Unless of course you’d rather have breakfast with Severus? But considering that the two of you just go into a bloody awful fight, I wouldn’t advise it. Still, if you’d rather, I’ll go and wake him for you.” 

You stiffen, and you feel panic bubbling up in your core, “No!” you exclaim, “Please, he doesn’t sleep a lot…”

A smirk crosses Lockhart’s lips. 

“We’ll have breakfast, let me just…change into something I can actually go out in.” you say at last, “I’ll be out in a moment…” you close the door rather quickly, and then lock it. You take extra time freshening up-- brushing your hair and teeth and washing your face, putting on light makeup. You unwillingly slip into stiff jeans and clingy fabric of a long-sleeved jumper. You put on your coat and scarf. 

You draw in a breath, grab your wallet, and then step out into the corridor again. Lockhart is leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed casually. He immediately turns to face you, smiling his “most charming smile”. It looks the same as it always does, but it isn’t near as charming as usual. 

“Ahh! Took a while, but I take a long time too. Longer in fact. Shall we?”

You nod briskly. He loops an arm around you and tugs you slightly, so you’re closer to his side. You stiffen, but when a frigid blast of cold air causes you to shudder, you can’t help but embrace the warmth his body heat gives off. The two of you start down the corridor. You glance behind you at Severus’s closed door.

-xXx-

You end up at a boujee little café that makes you feel slightly underdressed. You’re stuck at the café until all the shops open. 

“You know,” Gilderoy says, leaning back in his chair with a mug in his hand, “Since you’re my lover now, I’d like to spoil you a bit. Let’s go shopping, pick out some nice clothes for you.”

_But we’re not, though. We had a one-night stand, that doesn’t mean anything…_

You force a smile, “Thank you, but I have plenty of clothes. I don’t need anything new.” 

“Oh please, if you’re going to be in a relationship with me, you ought to wear some of the finest clothing my copious amounts of gold can afford. It’ll be much better than that drab garb you usually wear.” 

You feel a sting, “I like my normal clothing just fine, thank you.” you say. He frowns.

“Kit, my sweet, I scheduled an interview with the press next week, we’re going public. You need to look your best. I can’t have you standing next to me in jeans, trainers, and a faded jumper. Come, you can pick whatever you like. Something yellow, perhaps. That would suit you quite well.” 

“Going public?” you exclaim.

“Why yes, of course. What did you expect, silly?”

The thought of going public terrifies you to no end, twisting your stomach up in knots and gradually increasing the pulsations in your head. That is the last thing you want. You feel the sweat form on your brow. The clamminess increases in your hands. It’s only a matter of time before your heart starts to race and your breathing goes abnormal. 

“Ahh!” Gilderoy sighs, “What a year this is shaping up to be for Gilderoy Lockhart. A new job and a new lover! Everything comes in threes so it’s only a matter of time before the next success!” 

“G-Gilderoy, I really don’t want to go public.” 

“Oh nonsense. You’re a theatre instructor, you love the attention as much as I do, I’m sure of it.” 

“No, not really. I teach drama to make people smile and bring confidence to students. And also, because I love the theatre atmosphere. But my heart belongs with blocking, not starring.”

“Oh! There you go again, playing coy! Do us a favor and keep that shyness act on! It’s complementary to my wonderfully outgoing personality!” He chuckles. 

“Gilderoy, I’m being serious.” you try to tell him. 

“Of course, you are, acting is a very serious business!” he replies, “Now come, come dear, we ought to get going.” 

-xXx- 

On your way to a boutique, you’re bombarded by the press. Gilderoy stops to welcome them. Immediately, you’re faced with millions of garbled questions and cameras flashing in your face. He’s so busy laughing and talking about himself, he doesn’t even notice your growing state of discomfort and panic, even as you hide behind him and cling onto his robes to keep yourself there. 

_Who is this?_

_It’s Professor Kit Oakley, the drama teacher at Hogwarts!_

_They made a name for themselves by directing two very successful plays!_

_What are you doing out with Gilderoy Lockhart? Are the two of you dating one another? How do you feel about…You were holding hands! How long have the two of you been together? As his partner, what is your opinion on Lockhart’s books?_

The voices become distant and disjointed with the increasing thump of your heart, the spinning of your head swirling with thoughts, and the ragged breathing. 

You try to push your way through the crowd. 

“Darling, where are you going?” he asks, reaching out for your arm. 

You study him with widened eyes, and a furrowed brow, “I-I’m not dressed to be on camera!” You exclaim. You wrench your arm free and then turn to push your way through the crowd. As you do, you hear him say, 

“You must excuse my little Kitten, they’re quite camera shy! It’s an adorable little quirk of theirs.” 

* * *

  
  


You’re fighting your embarrassed and frustrated tears as you tear down the corridor. Everything blurs around you, and you crash into someone, sending you staggering backward into the wall. When you look up, you see Snape, glaring daggers. 

“Learn to watch where you’re going!” he snaps. You just stare at him with misty eyes and a panicked face. If you could see your own face, you’d be looking at someone who was pleading. For a mere fraction of a second, his gaze softens just slightly, before he remembers he’s angry with you.

“Idiot!” he pushes past you, vanishing down the hall. You count his steps, before you lock yourself in your dorm for the rest of the weekend and don’t talk to anyone, opting instead to curl up in blankets and cuddle a worried Jareth.

-xXx-

On Monday before breakfast, there’s a knock on your dorm room door again. You're reluctant to, but you open it anyway. There’s Lockhart, hiding behind a giant and expensive-looking bouquet of flowers. 

“These are for you, Kit.” he says, thrusting them into your hands, “I do hope you don’t think too harshly of me for what happened on Saturday morning. The press can be overbearing.” Without waiting for a response, he kisses you on the cheek, and smiles softly when he meets your eyes, “See you at breakfast, darling.” And then he turns and vanishes down the hall, leaving you standing with an armful of flowers and another thing to do before you can go down and eat. 

-xXx-

When the owls fly in to deliver the mail, you get a couple of letters from your friends and a large gift box. Inside is a brand-new outfit, that’s full Victorian dandy style, with a starched shirt, a striped tie, a bright yellow jumper, a navy tailcoat, and white pants. You turn crimson with embarrassment. You immediately look at Gilderoy. A massive and irritating smile spreads across his face and crinkles his blue eyes. You have to control your urge to punch him. 

“Oooo!” says Fred, or George (you can’t tell), “It looks like Professor Oakley’s got a sugar daddy.” Sniggers and laughs echo through the hall at the seemingly light-hearted joke. 

Gilderoy’s loud laugh fills the hall. You close the box and sink in your chair, putting your head down towards your food, turning an even deeper shade of red. You wish you could disapparate from the table. But you can’t. So, you just don’t look at anyone. 

_I don’t want this._

Near the end of breakfast, however, you find yourself glancing nervously towards Snape. His expression is stoic and stern as usual. 

“I don’t want this…” you mouth. His resting bitch face hardens to a glare.

You don’t enjoy your day.

* * *

“I came in here to talk to you about something rather important.” Gilderoy says, entering your office one late afternoon. 

“Wh-what is it?” you dare to ask. He comes in and closes the door behind him and approaches your desk. His smile fades. 

“Listen, darling. I know you aren’t too keen on being in the public eye with this relationship. But _I_ am. My reputation is incredibly important to me, and I couldn’t stand being rejected by you in front of the press. It would be so humiliating, you see. I might die of embarrassment. If you humiliate me, my dear, I’ll just have to do the same to you. I’m not afraid to share intimate details.” 

Your heart lurches and your gaze hardens. 

“I don’t want to be harsh, Kit, really. But this interview is very important to me. You see, attention is my passion just as theatre is yours.” he says, “All I’m asking is for you to act like you love me, do as I say, and I will spoil you just as any good partner should.” 

“But in exchange, if I don’t, you’ll tell the whole wizarding world we danced the Devil’s Tango?”

“Ooo, I quite like that, I’ll have to use that line at some point,” He says, then frowns, “But yes. I will. Believe me, I don’t want to have to stoop that low, my dearest one, but I will if I’m pushed.” 

So, you don’t have a choice. 

* * *

On the day of the interview, you shuffle uncomfortably and bounce an anxious leg. His hand finds your thigh, and he smiles, “It’s alright, darling. No need to be so anxious, we’re all friendly here.” 

Right before the interview he leans into your ear and says softly, “Remember what I told you, love. Give us that smile. Answer the questions accordingly and it’ll all be fine.” He faces the interviewer, “Forgive my dearest Kit, they’re quite nervous and very shy. It’s their first time in an interview.” 

“That’s alright dear!” declares the interviewer in his cockney accent. The journalist smiles. And then, you go public. During the interview, you stay silent and smile quietly by his side, while he tells the world how well it’s going. You nod along, tell them that you enjoy the nice things, but not as much as you enjoy being around him. When you’re asked questions, you answer them as they’ve been scripted. 

For the photo, they ask for a kiss. He pulls you in and kisses your head. You scrunch your eyes together and force a smile, staying stiff as a pole. 

* * *

It proceeded to continue this way. He’d present you with spontaneous gifts, but only when others were around to see him present them to you. Somehow, he always managed to convince you, and whisk you away from school to do something extravagant, whether it be buying expensive things, like real jewelry, or robes and outfit sets that were too fancy to wear at school, dining at the Ritz, taking you to the West End to see the latest professional play, a weekend trip to Paris in a five-star hotel, or to some fancy dinner where only the highest in society could go. You hated it. Especially considering you were only allowed to wear what he bought you when you went together. 

It was only in public that he’d hold your hand, touch you, and kiss you. You hated it because you let him. 

Then came the fan letters.

_Why Kit Oakely out of everyone? There are plenty of fans way more attractive._

_Oakley is so plain, Oakley is ugly._

_Do you see how Oakley shies away? Doesn’t even appreciate the fact of being the luckiest person in the wizard world._

_Uggh? Oakely? So selfish and ungrateful. Can’t believe Gilderoy’s getting strung along like this._

Every time you faced something like this, you’d just gather those feelings and negative emotions you responded with in a little ball and force them inside. You’d shut them out, and ignore them. Even when it came to death threats. The truth was, you were so miserable that death threats came as welcoming to you.

Sometimes you even got letters from fans who were concerned about Lockhart, insulting you, and telling you that you should treat him better and be more appreciative of being in a relationship with him.

If only he’d be more appreciative of you. 

* * *

With what little time you have away from Lockhart and not handling classes, office hours, and giving an antsy Jareth attention, you could be found playing intensely emotional pieces on the piano.

It was during one of these times that you were approached by Professor Flitwick. 

“Kit.” 

You stiffen, and jump. You turn to face the source of the voice. 

“Oh, dear me. I’m sorry I startled you.” he says, “But honestly, I’m glad I was able to catch you.” He murmurs a quick charm to close the door.

“May I?” you nod and get up. He scrambles his tiny body onto the piano stool so the two of you can be slightly at eye level with each other. 

“I can’t help but notice that Lockhart’s behaviors are making you uncomfortable.” You shift where you stand, averting your gaze and fiddling with your clammy hands. 

He continues, “I am ashamed that someone from my own house is treating another this way.” he sighs, “It isn’t my place, but you could report this to the Headmaster as harassment.” 

You force a weak smile and choke back your urge to cry, “Th-thank you for your concern, Professor, but it’s honestly alright. I’m only uncomfortable because I’m not really used to this much attention, affection, and indulgence…it’s all a bit overwhelming to me. That’s all.” 

“I see. If you’re certain, Mx Oakely,” he hums, clearly unconvinced, “It isn’t my place. But should you need anyone to talk to, my office door is always open.” 

“T-thank you, sir.” you say, feeling a sense of support that you hadn’t felt in a long while. You excuse yourself and then start back towards the staff quarters. You close and lock your door, and then go into the bathroom and let tears roll down your face, your sniffles and sobs echoing through the small room.

* * *

One day, you’d had enough.

“Please, Gilderoy. I feel guilty accepting all these extravagant gifts from you.” you say, examining the latest addition to your collection, which was a luxury wand case, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, it’s just that—” 

He places a finger to your lips, “Shh. There’s no need to. I’ve told you before darling, money isn’t an issue for me. You are my lover, and I love spoiling you.”

“Yes, but only in public! Where people can see you! Outside of that, I’m just a co-worker! I don’t need this overindulgence! This materialism! I need you to actually care about me, b-but you don’t!” 

Anytime he’d do any nice gesture it was always for attention in the sense of- “oh, look how adorable the two of us are! Oh yes, I love my little Kitten very much! I spoil my little kitten, they love it.” The only time he’d ever show affection was around other people- but only in public, and not at school, further emphasizing the fact he didn’t care about you, not really.

“You’re so self-absorbed. Not only that, but your “sugar daddy” behaviors and comments are basically broadcasting to the world that there’s a sexual aspect of our relationship! You’re kind of breaking our deal! And it feels so wrong! It also feels so wrong to be “loved” without feeling. To be spoiled without care. In exchange, you want me to stay with you, and keep this act so you can be regarded as some sort of Prince Charming. Th-this isn’t what I want in a relationship.”

The expression on his face melts into something you can only describe as hurt. 

“But I’ve given you everything.” he says, “And I ask for so little in return.” 

“You haven’t given me love. You’ve given me things. There’s a difference.” 

“Kit.” he puts his hands on your shoulders and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “I assure you my feelings for you are real. What will it take for you to believe me?” 

Your eyes sting. “I’m sorry, but you can’t.” you try to push past him, but he reaches for your arm. 

“Kit…” you stop and turn to face him. His face is contorted. His brows are furrowed, and his blue eyes are misty. His smile is replaced with a sad, vulnerable expression, “I love you…” he says breathily, voice shaking. Your heart breaks a little. 

You gaze at him for a moment, trying to make sense of his expression. Normally, you can see right through an actor’s face, but his is exceedingly difficult to read. His hands cup your cheeks and his blue eyes burn holes in you. It occurs to you, then, that he really has been trying extremely hard, he really has spoiled you, and has been kind to you, and you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. You’re engulfed with guilt that feels wrongly placed. But you surrender to it anyway. 

You shrink under his gaze and you give into sympathy. 

“I was selfish, Kit.” He says, “And arrogant. But the longer we’ve spent together, the more I’ve come to realize that I’ve learned how to be a better person. I may have not cared about you then. But I care about you now! Please,” his voice shakes, “You must believe me.” 

And so, you fall hopelessly into his arms, and you let him kiss your lips, carry you to his room, and claim your body again. 

-xXx-

But the next day, the week that follows, he returns to the same remorseless and loveless behavior. That night, once you’ve escaped him, you dare look up at your reflection. In front of you, you hardly recognize yourself. The face which was once warm and rosy with life is pallor and sunken in. Dark shadows glare beneath and around hallowed, dull, and reddened eyes. Dirty tears from salt and streaky makeup stain your face like veiny ink rivers. You’re way frailer and look smaller than normal. Your oversized jumper hangs from your shoulder. Your messy hair is dirty and unruly. Whatever life is usually teaming inside you seems to have started to dwindle. You feel mostly numb except for the ache of your heart and the sensation of frail shoulders heavy with burdens. 

But you don’t cry. Instead, you turn and you leave your reflection and decide to go for a night swim in the lake. 

On your way down, you run into Snape. You stiffen, and try not to look at him, and you’re about to brush past him, until his voice fills the air. 

“You look just like my mother did.” he says. You freeze and step back to face him.

“Pathetic, frail, and abused,” he says. His eyes flash with sympathy, glossing over. You avert your gaze from him, shame clawing its way up and overtaking you. 

“…Because of how my father treated her.” he continues, “I warned you Lockhart didn’t care! I warned you! Why couldn’t you listen!? Now look what he’s done to you!” His voice is shaking. 

You say nothing, you push past him, muttering a weak, “Excuse me.” You can’t take him talking to you like this right now. A hand grabs your arm, and you stagger back. 

“Severus, let go!” you exclaim, trying to tug free, but his grip tightens. 

“No, you will listen to me!” he exclaims. Your eyes flash with burning tears, and emotions storm inside of you. You glare at him. 

But to your surprise, as your expression hardens, his expression softens. He releases your arm. 

“You don’t deserve this. I wish you could see that.” and then he turns, and he walks briskly down the hall. 

That was it. Two sentences that pulled you back to reality. And it was then that you realized, Lockhart’s sorry attempt at blackmailing was going to go nowhere. He was all talk, anyway. You realized that, now. The world basically knew, too, because of his impulsive and careless comments about his role as a sugar daddy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Essentially, what happens in this chapter is Kit enters a relationship with Lockhart, which proves to be very unhealthy. Kit tries a few times to break out of it, but Lockhart won't listen. He's stuck in wanting his own way. He threatens Kit by telling them that he'll expose the fact that they slept together. So, Kit stays with Lockhart, who over-indulges them with things and not love, filling a sugar-daddy-esque role. Kit gets stuck in quite a few uncomfortable situations which embarrass and humiliate them. They also get hate from Lockhart's fans as well, saying that they are the one in the wrong, even though they absolutely are not. 
> 
> Kit keeps looking to Snape for help, and although he shows sympathy, each encounter ultimately ends with him still angry. 
> 
> One afternoon, Kit is approached by Professor Flitwick, who confronts them about the Lockhart situation, telling them that they could report Lockhart for harassment. But Kit smiles and says simply, "thank you for your concern, Professor, but it’s honestly alright. I’m only uncomfortable because I’m not really used to this much attention, affection, and indulgence…it’s all a bit overwhelming to me. That’s all." Flitwick proceeds to tell Kit that they can come to his office if they ever need someone to talk to. Kit smiles and shows their gratitude, and then goes to their dorm. When they get to their room, everything stacks up, and they cry it out. 
> 
> Eventually, they do confront Lockhart, and try to express their concerns. Lockhart responds as if he's been very hurt, making Kit feel guilty. He then tells Kit that he loves them, and that Kit has made him a better person.. Impacted by this encounter, Kit gives into Lockhart, and lets themselves be kissed and slept with again, thinking perhaps that maybe Lockhart was being sincere. 
> 
> But immediately after this, in the days and weeks that follow, Lockhart returns to his loveless and remorseless behavior. Kit looks at themselves in their mirror, and they examine the toll the relationship has taken on their health. They don't cry, but they leave their room to go down to the lake. They run into Snape and have a very emotional encounter with him. He expresses his concerns for them in the form of a worried rage. He finishes by telling Kit, "You don’t deserve this. I wish you could see that.” and then he walks away. 
> 
> This ultimately gives Kit a reality check, and they realize that Lockhart's sorry attempt at blackmailing would go nowhere, that Lockhart was all talk, and it didn't matter at that point if he shared the details or not, because his sugar-daddy behaviors and comments had basically alluded to that anyway.


	6. Blood Writings and Banters

VI. Blood Writings and Banters

The next day you confront Lockhart. 

“I don’t think you care about me, Gilderoy. It’s an act. You’re only using me for attention, to prove how much of a “gentleman” you are. And I don’t have feelings for you. Not the way that you want me to. I can’t take this! I can’t pretend like this anymore! I may be an actor…but when I’m actually getting negatively affected in the process, it’s time for the curtain call…” you say, “We’re staging a breakup. We can go separate ways, no hard feelings. I’ll just disappear from the limelight and you can take all the glory again. If people ask why it didn’t work out, you can make up some grandiose story about it, as long as you don’t mention the…you know…and you don’t make me out to be a bad person…you can even be poetic and say something like, “Our paths were going opposite directions so we decided it was best to follow them and go our separate ways without any hard feelings.”” You finish and avert your gaze, “I bet you could say something like that wonderfully, with your melodramatic prowess.” You finish, “Please Gilderoy. I’m begging you. Don’t pull me along like this anymore…” your voice breaks with emotion.

For once, he is actually listening to you, “Very well, Kit. I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ll write up a script, we’ll rehearse it, and I’ll contact someone from the paper.”

“You mean…you don’t have any hard feelings?” you can hardly believe it.

“No. You’re cute, Kit. But as a fan. A kind person, too. Enjoyed having you ogle me. But alas, the limelight was never meant for you. You’re far too shy and hardly confident in yourself. Could never measure to me. Not really.” He says, “You saw right through me too, how intuitive. I never had any feelings to begin with. It was fun to play pretend, though. I’ll have that “break-up” script done this time next week. Farewell for now. See you at the feast tonight.” He turns and leaves you standing alone in the hall. As he disappears, he waves curtly and doesn’t look back.

You feel relieved, but at the same time, your heart feels like its breaking. You had at last seen Lockhart’s truest colors, and they weren’t pretty. And you were positive Snape was still mad at you. Your “closest” friends at Hogwarts, and now both of them are gone. And then all the awful things that were said to you by Lockhart’s fans resurface again. You bite your bottom lip, tears sting your eyes, and begin to pour from them. You press yourself against the wall and slide down, curling into a fetal position on the floor, and you weep.

-xXx-

You barely notice the sound of footsteps echoing in the hall. They stop in front of you, and it is only then you notice someone is there because they cast a shadow. You look up to see Snape through your blurry gaze.

“Are you going to tell me off? Say I told you so? I-if that’s what you’re going to do, you can leave!” You say, voice stuffy.

“Stand up, Kit.” He says, voice neutral. You stay put.

“Stand up.” He repeats.

You slowly comply, shakily standing, avoiding his gaze as you do. He doesn’t move. You slowly look up, feeling ashamed. His expression is unreadable, but with a hand, he beckons you to approach him. You sniffle and step forward. He pulls you into his arms for a warm, tight embrace. He murmurs “Dunderhead” in your ear. Then, he hoists you up, bridal style, and carries you down the corridor. 

-xXx-

Next thing you know, you’re sitting on his sofa, with Lily crawling all over you. She’s much bigger than before. He’s in his kitchen, making something for you. He brings out a steaming mug of hot cocoa and sits down beside you. You don’t say anything to one another, and he lets you calm down and sip slowly, awkwardly offering you tissues.

“I was about to give Lockhart a piece of mind if you weren’t going to say anything.” He says dryly, “It was about time. Why did you let him use you like that? You’re smart enough to not have let it go on for as long as it did. _A month_ , Kit. A month, you let him sexually harass you. Sexual harassment is not tolerated, it’s school policy. You should know that. You should have reported it to the Headmaster. It was getting out of hand.” 

“He _blackmailed_ me, Severus!” you exclaim, “He threatened to expose the fact that I...the fact that we…” you trail off. 

“Yes?” he presses. 

“We danced the Devil’s Tango....twice.” you say, blushing scarlet, ““Th-that night we got into that argument…” you continue, “I left really upset. I was so upset that it drove me to want to get shit-faced drunk. I ran into Lockhart in the hallway, and we decided to go to the pub together. We had a couple of drinks, and we fooled around...” you stop, he’s attentive. You draw in a third deep breath, “I woke up the next morning in his bed.” You avert his gaze, “We woke up, and he declared us lovers and bought me breakfast. That’s how this whole thing started. I—I didn’t want it to happen, I didn’t want it to go this far, please you must understand. I was upset, and I made an awful, horrible mistake…and after I said there wasn’t anything going on I…I went and slept with him and…I regret it…that and...I slept with him a second time when we were both completely sober...I fell for his act...he fooled me into thinking that I made him a better person...I should have known better. He was going to tell the press about it if I didn’t go along with him.” 

“Disgusting.” Snape scoffs, “Threatening to share such private matters…” 

“H-he wouldn’t have gone into detail...just…”

Severus shakes his head, “You really have awful taste in men, Kit Oakely. First me. And then Lockhart.”

“You’re not--” 

He holds out a hand to silence you, “I understand you were ashamed and embarrassed, but you still should have reported the harassment. It could have been handled, and if he had shared that personal information, you would have had a whole school to side with you and his reputation would have been tarnished as it should be.” he says, “You can still report him, you know.” 

“It’s over and done with. I don’t want to.” you reply, “And you won’t report anything either. I’m not out for vengeance on Lockhart, Severus. I’m just relieved it’s all over.” 

“Hmph. I would be. But it isn’t my place.” he says, “Honestly, it’s a miracle you actually stood up for yourself. If you’d like to burn all of Lockhart’s books, I’ll light my fireplace.”

You chuckle. “Thanks Severus…” you trail off, “B-but back to what you were saying- about me having awful taste in men, including you...I don’t think you’re awful. Not entirely, anyway...”

“Say what you will, Kit.” Snape replies, “But I’m not a good person in the slightest.”

“No one’s perfect.” You reply, “We all have flaws, and we all make mistakes.”

“Again with you and your “goodness.”” He huffs.

“I suppose it balances us out.” You reply, smiling softly, then you sigh again, “I’m sorry about last month. For everything. I’ll try to be better at communication.”

“Apology accepted,” Snape says, and then adds, “I’m sorry as well.”

You freeze and look up, a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, “Apology accepted.”

“Don’t go sharing this with everyone.” he says.

“I won’t.”

“Now, are we going to burn Lockhart’s books or are we not?” he jumps back to his original comment before the tangent.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll donate them to _Flourish and Blotts_ instead. Rather that than burning away money.”

“Shame,” he says, “I should have liked to see them destroyed as payment for all the trouble he’s caused.” You chuckle again, and then you glance at the clock.

“Oh dear! Look at the time! I’ve got to go and get ready for the Halloween feast.” You start to get up, “Thanks for comforting me and cheering me up, Severus.” You say, “I really needed it.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

You smile softly, “I know.” You get up and start to leave the dorm, but before you do, you turn, “Severus? This means we’re friends again, right?”

“Well, what else would you call us? Especially considering you’ve just shared some especially private matters with me. On the subject of that, if you ask me, someone ought to cleanse Lockhart’s taint of you.”

“What are you implying, exactly? Are you suggesting I go off ‘philandering’ again?” 

“No. I’m suggesting that perhaps you should find someone who will really appreciate you.” he replies. 

You hold each other’s gaze for a moment, before turning away when you start to blush, “I…” you trail off. 

“Cat got your tongue, Kit?” Snape teases. 

“No.” you say, and then, looking towards the kitchen, you notice that Lily is on the counter, pawing at the potion materials on it, about to push them off to break and spill their potentially dangerous contents on the floor, “She’s got your potions.”

Snape stiffens and then glances swiftly over his shoulder. He scrambles up, “Lily, get away from there!” and he storms into the kitchen. You shake your head in amusement and then go to your room to get ready for dinner. 

You decide that since it is Halloween, and you’re feeling a bit better about yourself, you want to dress a little bit fancy. Since you don’t have to match with Lockhart anymore, you get to wear one of your favorite outfits. You button up the cream-colored blouse to your neck, tucking it into black trousers. You then put on a waistcoat in bright pumpkin orange, and finish with a black robe that is covered in print of tiny orange Jack-O-Lanterns. You tie a pin-striped black and orange bow around your neck. You give yourself a once over in the mirror. You smile softly as blush covers your cheeks, and you can’t help yourself, so you say, “Looking smashing, pumpkin.” You nod, brush your hair, and whisk out of the room. You run into Severus or your way down, looking slightly disheveled. There are thin, red claw marks across one cheek, which he has tried to cover with his hair.

“Oh my!” you exclaim, “It looks like she cuffed you.”

“I know.” He huffs, “She didn’t appreciate me trying to remove her from the countertop.” You try your hardest not to start chuckling. It seems that Lily has hit her terrible twos, and twos, of course, meaning two months. As she was about two months old at this point. 

“Come on.” He says, “It’s nearly time for the feast. We’ll be late if we don’t hurry. And I—”

“Disapprove of tardiness.” You mimic, and then smile, “I know!” your voice returns to its normal fluctuations. 

He shakes his head, “If you were a student and mimicked me like that, I’d take away house points.”

“I’m just _teasing.”_ You say, “It’s Hallow’s Eve! Lighten up a bit.” You encourage.

“No.”

You blow a wayward strand of hair in mock frustration. “Pfft. Whatever Severus~” and then the two of you continue down the hallway towards the stairs. You walk a couple paces in front of him, a bounce in yourself. 

“What’s got you so chipper all of the sudden. It’s odd.”

“Hmm? Let’s see~ I’m dressed fabulously, and I match _you_ and I’m going to show up with you, matching you and NOT wearing the robes Lockhart got for me! Didn’t you notice I’m not wearing my usual bright colors?”

“If I said anything about your pumpkin robes you’d get offended.”

“What? You don’t like them?” you ask.

“They’re odd.”

“Yes, they fit the season!” you declare. He doesn’t say anything in response, but you’re sure he’s rolling his eyes. When you enter the Great Hall, most people are already assembled. It smells heavenly, and your mouth is watering. When you pass the tables, some of your students have clearly noticed your change in mood, because they smile and say hello to you.

“Good evening, darlings~ happy Halloween!” you respond with a wide smile. You feel a tug on your arm as Snape keeps you from running into a pillar. “Oh!” you exclaim, with realization. You blush and turn back to focus on where you’re going. You notice that Lockhart’s seat is empty. Though you heard it from the Grapevine that Potter was serving detention with him, so if he was late it was because of that.

When you get up to the table Snape leans into your ear and says, “You’re switching seats with me. That blundering idiot is not allowed near you while I’m around.”

“Aww…” your heart flutters, “Severus…how—”

“Don’t.” he says dryly, “I’m not kind or thoughtful. That’s your job.” You climb the short flight of steps and walk across to your seats.

“Suit yourself, darling~ but I know you better than that.” You slide into the chair.

“Just sit down and eat your dinner.” He huffs, pale pink spreading across his pallor cheeks.

“Good evening, Kit.” Says Minerva, “You’re looking bright-eyed and better this evening.”

“Thank you, Ma’am! I feel much better too.”

“That’s good to hear.” She slides some of the food closer to you and asks what you want to drink.

“I’ll have some pumpkin juice, please.” You say.

“Of course.” She waves her hand to fill up the cup, and then says, “Please, dig in.” And so, you do.

-xXx-

Halloween dinner is a lively and cheerful affair. A great weight has been lifted off your shoulders. And even when Gilderoy Lockhart does join the rest of the staff at the table, Snape is sure to adjust his position in such a way that his back and shoulder create a wall between you and the blonde narcissist. And for that, you were grateful.

The feast comes to an end and soon, full and satisfied, you’re headed back to the common room for a goodnight’s sleep. However, as you’re heading down the hall, you are shocked by the immediate change in mood, and a thick tension that sets in after an explosion of garbled, appalled, and nervous voices. Then, you hear the outraged and broken voice of Argus Filch spitting death threats.

“Argus!” Dumbledore booms. The hall falls silent, you strain and rock on your tiptoes to try and see over the gathered crowd.

Your breath catches in your throat. You see the stone-dead form of Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat hanging by her tail from a torch holder. Her mouth his open and soundless, and she looks like she’s in rigor mortis. Then, you become aware of the writings on the wall.

The writings on the wall are written in blood.

_“The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware…”_

You hear the annoying voice of Draco Malfoy break the air, reading the message, “Enemies of the heir beware?” he sneers, “You’ll be next, Mudbloods.”

You bristle and rage festers in your core. If you didn’t have self-control, and weren’t next to Snape right now, you’d cuff that spoiled brat.

“Prefects, lead your houses back to the common rooms, immediately!” Dumbledore orders, “All except you three.” He says, turning to look down at the infamous three musketeers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Gryffindors follow me!” says Percy Weasley. And all the students are gone as quickly as they had swarmed the hallways. 

You Professors step forward to examine the scene of the crime. “She’s not dead, Argus.” Says Dumbledore, “She’s been petrified.”

Gilderoy Lockhart walks up to observe poor Mrs. Norris and says, “Ah! Thought so. So unlucky I wasn’t there. I know exactly the counter curse that could have saved her.”

_Counter curse my ass._ You inwardly growl. You glance at the caretaker, who’s fighting tears. As much of a sourpuss as he is, you can’t help to feel bad for him. You’d be devastated if something like this happened to Jareth.

“But how she’s been petrified, I cannot say.”

“Ask him.” Filch says icily, indicating Potter, “It’s him that’s done it! You saw what ‘e wrote on the wall!”

“It’s not true sir, I swear! I never touched Mrs. Norris!” Harry pleads. You glance at the bespectacled boy with messy dark hair. Your heart goes out to him. Poor thing.

Snape steps forward slightly, “If I might, Headmaster.” You stiffen. Oh no. He briefly meets your gaze.

“Perhaps Potter and his friends were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

_Wh-what!? He’s actually—wh-what!? This is too good to be true…now it’s just a matter of the dreaded—_

“However.” He says, “The circumstances are suspicious. I for one, _don’t_ recall seeing Potter at dinner.” 

_Stars! For God sakes, Severus!_

“I’m afraid that’s my doing, Severus.” You recognize the suave voice of Lockhart cutting in, “You see Harry was helping me answer my fan mail.”

“That’s why Ron and I went looking for him, Professor.” Hermione starts, “W-we just found him when he said…” She trails off, and you watch three of them exchange glances. They look back up at Snape.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” Snape presses.

“When I said I wasn’t hungry. We were heading back to the common room when we found Mrs. Norris.”

Finally, you decide to intervene. You brush passed Severus and go to stand behind the boy. You set a hand on his shoulder, “Severus. He’s a child. From what I understand its very advanced Dark Magic, right?” you look to the Potions Master for confirmation, but his eyes narrow and his glare hardens. He won’t back you up, so you trust your own conclusion, “A boy couldn’t _possibly_ know how to use it.” Snape turns back to look at Dumbledore, and you feel a dagger stab your chest. But you look to the Headmaster as well.

And he says, “Innocent until proven guilty, Severus.”

Anger wells up inside you and you squeeze Harry’s shoulder. _Dumbledore suspects him too!? No way! I thought old wizards were supposed to be wise! This is completely irrational!_

It’s Filch who speaks next, “My _cat_ has been petrified! I wanna see some _punishment!”_ His voice breaks. 

“We will be able to cure her, Argus.” Dumbledore reassures, “As I understand it, Madame Sprout has a very healthy growth of Mandrakes. When they mature, a potion will be made that will revise Mrs. Norris.”

Pause.

“In the meantime, I strongly recommend caution to all.” Your grip on Harry’s shoulder loosens and the children in front of you nod vigorously. You meet eyes with Snape again. You’re met with the feeling of tension returning, as everyone disperses to retire to their quarters.

You trail behind Severus. While you would normally refrain from speaking about the sore subject of Harry Potter to him, the situation had left you so baffled and upset that you didn’t care at this point, “Severus, why didn’t you back up what I was saying? You know what I said was true! And you know that accusing and suspecting him is out of line!” He continues walking briskly in front of you. You break into a short jog to catch up with him. Then you step in front of him, putting your foot down and crossing your arms. He gives you a sneering smirk, because you are a red-faced, and petite form standing in front of him. It annoys you. He tries to step around you, but you block him. 

“Answer my question or you can’t pass.” You say. He rolls his eyes and huffs.

“Shove off, you’re making a scene.” You step aside and let him brush past you. You pull out your wand. Once his back is to you, you give it a flick, using it to tug his hair. It’s not a hard tug, but it’s enough to show him you’re irritated with him. He briefly touches the back of his head and glances over his shoulder.

“Is that your way of being threatening?” he challenges, “Because it isn’t in the slightest. Rather, it’s petty. And annoying.

“I’ll pull it harder!” you warn, brandishing your wand. He fights a smirk.

You continue, “You think this is funny, do you?” you demand, “I swear I’ll do it!” 

He isn’t amused anymore. “This is hardly a time to be petty, Kit.” He scolds, “We have much more dire matters to focus on.” And immediately, you’re brought from your high horse and back down to earth. He’s right. You sigh and put your wand away, and once again the heavy weight of dread surrounding what happened is at the forefront of your thoughts

“You’re right Severus.” You relent, “Let’s just…agree to disagree. About Potter, I mean.” _Even though I think you’re being an absolute asshole and you’re completely in the wrong._

“Fine.” he says, once again short and cold, “It’s for the best, anyway. We’ll just end up arguing if we take this discussion further than this. And I’m not in the mood to deal with it.” And then he turns and vanishes down the hall, with you trailing him.


	7. Snape's Promise

VII. Snape’s Promise

You meet Snape before the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch match. The two of you walk together, heading down to the Quidditch field. You’re wearing your worn gray and yellow scarf from your school days, and your favorite royal purple coat. You match his knitted purple scarf, which you’d made for him last year. For once, you notice he is not wearing black. No, his clothes today are of the dark green variety, to match his house. You climb up to the box that Lockhart isn’t in, and you settle yourself in between him and Professor Flitwick. You notice that Lucius Malfoy is on the other side of Severus and force down the ball of resentment you have towards him and smile softly, nodding respectfully. He is the governor of the school, after all.

“Good morning, Governor.” You say. He nods curtly, with his upturned nose, expression stagnant, and then proceeds to ignore you for the rest of the match. It does not surprise you though, considering your muggle upbringing. So, you try to ignore how awful it makes you feel and try to enjoy the match. While you wait for the match to start, you converse quietly with Professor Flitwick. You avoid talking to Severus because you don’t want Malfoy to judge you more than you know he already does.

You applaud whenever each team scores, since you’re unbiased and not rooting for either one in-particular. It proves to be an eventful and close match—a violent one too, you might add. Draco Malfoy takes a painful spill from his broom. Potter follows soon after and ends up with a broken arm because of a cursed bludger. Lockhart the dumbass tries to fix it with a charm, but instead removes all the bones in Harry’s arm. He ends up being rushed to the infirmary. On the bright side, though, because of Harry’s efforts, Gryffindor wins the match.

* * *

On your way back to the castle, your stomach growls, twisting with hunger. It’s about 13:30 in the afternoon, and you want luncheon. You’re by yourself, because Snape followed Lucius to the infirmary to check on Draco. However, you know it will be short-lived because Severus will grow tired of Draco’s whining. He disapproves of whining.

You grab a glass of water and head back to your dorm for the time being, to wait for Snape to come back. You leave your room door open to air out the stuffiness of the small studio, put your records on, and relax, cuddling a sleepy barn owl. You sit up with your back against the pillows and headboard, and hold him in your arms, close to your chest like a baby. He lays in your lap on his back with his drowsy moon face turned towards your chest, and you gently stroke his down white belly. You sing along softly as you rock your sleepy pet, periodically sipping on water. This time, you’ve got Elvis on.

_ Don’t take this Heaven from one _

_ Well if you must cling to someone _

_ Now and forever _

_ Let it be me. _

__

_ Each time we meet, love _

_ I find complete love _

_ Without your sweet love _

_ Tell me, what would life be? _

__

_ So never leave me lonely _

_ Just tell me you love me only _

_ And that you’ll always _

_ Let it be me… _

__

You rock him along to the instrumental and let the song embrace you just as you’re embracing your owl. He soon falls asleep. You smile softly down at him and then carry him over to his cage, lying him inside the generously cushioned box you got from the Owl Emporium. He groggily readjusts himself and goes back to sleep, tucking his face under his wing. You leave the cage door open and turn back around. Just then, you see Snape crossing the hall towards his room. Your face lights up, and you poke your face out of your door frame, take a deep breath and call to him.

“Severus?” he stops and turns to glance over his shoulder to you. You walk into the hallway and clear your throat, “Ahem…I’m feeling a bit hungry, but I don’t want to go by myself…so…I was wondering if…” blush heats up your cheeks, “I-if you’d like to have lunch with me!?” your voices rises slightly with nerves.

“I suppose.” He answers.

“Wonderful! Okay.” You sigh with relief. You stand awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.

“Would you like to leave now?” he asks.

“Oh! Y-yes, of course. Let me just—grab my coat and turn my record off, half a moment! You turn to go back in your room, “Y-you can come in instead of standing there, if you’d like!” you offer. He steps into the room and darts his gaze around, while you grab your coat, your wand on the nightstand, your wallet, and you turn off your record, douse your lamps, draw your curtains over your window, and leave the room with him, with the last bit of song echoing in your head.

_ And that you’ll always _

_ Let it be me. _

* * *

You return feeling light-hearted and full. But as you enter the corridors, you’re met with a cacophony of emotion. When you feel the tension, and see the look of dread on their faces, you know. Someone else has been petrified. You follow Snape as he pushes his way through the mass of students and to the front where the teachers are gathered. When you make your way up, you’re still blocked by the backs of those who are taller than you. You recognize McGonagall in her usual green, and Professor Sprout by her side. Both women look at you with sympathy, and it engulfs your senses with a feeling of dread.

McGonagall shakes her head, “I’m so sorry, Kit.” They make a path for you, and at last the horror is revealed. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel light-headed. The teachers watch warily. 

_ No, no, no…please no…no…. _

He’s lying on his back in a puddle of stale water. His talons stretched as if to strike. His wings are spread to their full span. His eyes are wide with terror and his beak is partially open as if he was trying to let out a warning shriek. He is as still as stone. No sound escapes from his body.

The sound, almost like a whimper, escapes from your mouth, “Jareth…” you rush over to him and fall to your knees, soaking your jeans in the water. Your breath quickens, so does your heartbeat. The world feels hazy around you. You feel faint. You want to scream and cry. And you hate yourself because the Heir of Slytherin made Jareth pay the price for your muggle-born heritage.

“All of you return to the dormitories at once.” says Dumbledore. There’s a sound of thunderous feet and garbled voices that vanish and fade.

“Jareth…no…please…no…please wake up, say something to me…” you reach to touch him. He’s cold and stiff as a pole, “Why…why…I’m so, so, so sorry…I should have locked your cage and closed your door…” You bend over double. Clenched fists dig nail marks into your palms. You press your forehead to his, hoping to hear a sign of breath. But it’s silent. He doesn’t stir underneath you, and you feel daggers in your soul. There are no tears coming this time, but anguish penetrates your chest, the world vanishes around you.

“He’s only been petrified, Kit.” says Dumbledore, “He will be fine.” You bristle. You whip your head around and glare daggers at him.

“ _ Only  _ been petrified!?  _ Only  _ been petrified!” you echo, raising your voice, “Excuse me, Headmaster! That basically means he’s in  _ rigor mortis _ , he may as well be  _ dead! _ ” emotion cracks in your voice.

You immediately feel a drastic increase in tension.

“Kit!” McGonagall breaks in sternly, “Apologize for disrespecting the Headmaster  _ immediately _ .”

“It’s alright, Minerva.” he says, “Professor Oakley is upset. We’ll let them have a moment, and then we’ll move Jareth to the infirmary with Mrs. Norris.”

“And Severus,” he continues, “Best stay with Kit.”

“Yes, Headmaster.” He drawls. The staff turns and they leave, all except Severus, who stays with you, awkwardly standing off to the side. You turn back to face Jareth, just staring into his wide and terrified eyes as pain blurs your gaze. Your head hurts as you try to fight the tears that aren’t coming, face scrunched up in agony.

Hopelessly, you draw your hand across his belly, which only just earlier you were stroking as he snoozed in your arms. You stay there in silence.

“N-now I know how Filch felt…” you say. And then you choke up at last. You tear your gaze away from Jareth and you meet Snape’s.

“I love him, Severus…” you say, “He’s my best friend…m-my baby…why does  _ he  _ have to pay the price for _ my _ muggle blood!? I wish I would have been the one that was petrified! Not him! He’s an innocent creature! He doesn’t deserve this! It isn’t fair!” He doesn’t say anything to you, but his face twists with deep-rooted anguish that he doesn’t want to admit aloud. You’ve abandoned all rationality, “This hurts so much I just want to  _ die!” _

His gaze hardens and he rushes forward and jerks you off the ground by the arm, turning you to face him. His eyes blaze. “Enough with this! How  _ dare  _ you talk like that! You idiot! Do you have any idea what you’re even saying!?” he spits.

At this point, your tears leak from your eyes, and through shaky breaths, you begin to cry.

“He’s not dead, for Stars’ sake!” he growls, “At least you’ll get him back! I lost someone that I can  _ never  _ get back! And do you want to know why? Because she’s dead. The dead  _ cannot  _ come back! For you to say that you want to die is complete—” he cuts off.

You stiffen. You tug your arm from his grasp and clench your fists together. You bite your trembling lip.

“Do I need to shake your senses back into you!?” he demands, “He’s been  _ petrified _ ! When those Mandrakes mature, I’m going to brew a potion that will save him! And he’ll be alive and well again!” Upon saying this, his gaze softens. It’s a promise.

Your chest swirls with a storm of emotions. There’s a war going on inside you which you cannot quite comprehend. Your head hurts. Your heart is cracking. And then it occurs to you how much carnage you’ve created with what you just said.

“…Severus…I’m sorry…it’s just that it hurts so much, I…” You turn away from him and sink to the ground again as more tears leak silently from your face and onto Jareth’s. They fall and dribble down his cheeks. A heavy silence has overtaken the hallways.

But then you hear footsteps, echoing through the hall and splashing through the water on the floor. There’s a rustle of fabric and another sinking beside you. His arm finds your shoulders and tugs you to him. You turn away from the body of the barn owl and screw your eyes together, leaning into his warm chest.

He says something to you that’s barely audible. “I know.”

You hear the footsteps again, people are coming down the hall. He hoists you into a bridal carry again and whisks the two of you away as the footsteps drew closer. Now, you are in his dorm room again. He gets up and disappears into the kitchen. You tug off your coat and scarf and drape it over the back of the couch, tug off your trainers. You seize the throw that is beside your draped clothes and then tug off your wet jeans, which also join your outerwear. You cover yourself with the blanket and lay on his sofa, curling into a ball to combat the chill in the room. Lily appears from around the corner, nudges your hand, and then hops up beside you. She curls into you and nuzzles you, her whiskers tickling your face. She can sense that you need to be comforted. She purrs, and you smile sadly and scratch her ears. Then, you close your eyes and give in to fatigue and lethargy again. 

When you wake up, it’s dark. You’re still on Snape’s couch. You blink your eyes open to dim candlelight, you scan your gaze around. Lily is asleep in a ball on the made-up bed, but besides her, the room is empty. Your clothing is folded neatly on the coffee table, and your dried jeans smell like clean laundry. You glance at the clock on the side table. Everyone is down at dinner. You’re hardly dressed for the Great Hall, but hunger gnaws your stomach again. You tug your jeans back on, slip into your shoes, and drape your coat and scarf over your arm, quietly exiting the room. You cross the hallway to your own quarters. You try to ignore the empty owl cage. You change your shoes and quickly wrestle into your nearest set of robes. Then, you head down to the Great Hall for dinner. When you open the door, everyone stares at you.

You keep your head down and cut across the walkway to the High Table. You nod at Dumbledore and settle down next to Severus. You eat swiftly and don’t converse. You feel as though your wilting under these wary gazes, most of them pitying you. They know just as well as you that so far this has been a very rough year.

After the frugal amount of food you consume, you leave the Great Hall and return to your dorm room to shower. Then you go to bed again.

When you wake up the next morning, you’re met with more unhappy news. Colin, a first-year from Gryffindor, has been petrified. There’s a great uneasy murmur among the students and a feeling of dread thick in the air of the Great Hall. Your shoulders feel heavy, and you’re enveloped with melancholy.

Dumbledore calls an emergency staff meeting. He says that it is just as he feared.. Your stomach twists in a knot.

“Last time the Chamber was opened,” he says, “A Muggle-born was murdered. Salazar Slytherin created the chamber and believed that muggle-borns were not fit to study magic. The Heir has been sent to finish the job, and all Muggle Borns are in grave danger.” He meets your gaze and you shuffle in your seat, “If these attacks persist, I am afraid the school will have to be closed.”

_ No! _ Your head spins with dread.  _ I don’t want to go back to the ministry of magic! I’ll have no place to live…please no…  _ But then, you’re hit with an even greater dread. You’re a target…

“Headmaster, if I may,” You recognize Lockhart’s voice, “In light of the current situation, I’d like to establish a dueling club. Extracurricular lessons in offense and defense so that the students might be able to protect themselves if they have to.”

_ Wow, Lockhart’s using his brain? That’s shocking. _

Dumbledore studies Lockhart, “I think that that is a wise idea, Gilderoy.” He says.

“Excellent.” Lockhart smiles ridiculously.

“We’ll have some flyers made and post them up around the school.” Dumbledore says, seeming very pleased. 

The meeting doesn’t carry on much farther than that.

A week later, the first meeting for the Dueling Club is held. A little bit before the meeting time, Snape approaches you, seeming oddly high in spirits.

“Lockhart asked me to be his opponent today.” He says, “Being matched up with his idiocy, however, is an insult to my abilities, despite how amusing it would be to knock him off his feet. In my opinion, your vengeance on him for using you is still in order. And since you’ve declined my offer to burn all his books, I’d be willing to let you be his opponent instead of me.” 

__

_ A chance to kick Lockhart’s ass?  _ Oh, you certainly don’t want to pass that up.

“Okay! I’ll gladly take up that offer.” You say, “Are you still coming to the meeting, though?”

“Yes.”

“Now!” Lockhart exclaims, “I’d like to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape!” All the eyes of the gathered students turn to face the direction he’s indicating. This is your cue. You saunter from the crowd with Professor Snape behind you. You step up onto the table and walk across it, wand in hand.

“Kit?” Lockhart says.

“Snape opted to let me fill in for him.” you say, standing tall and fighting your sneer.

“Well, alright then. That works for me. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“Oh, I won’t.” The two of you approach each other and raise your wands to be parallel to the bridges of your noses. You hold them there for a second and then flick them down to your sides. You bow to each other, respectfully, and then lift your heads back up, he smirks with his infuriatingly handsome face before the two of you turn to walk to opposite ends of the long table. You turn to face each other. Gilderoy starts to count down.

“3…2…”

_ “Ex-pelli-armus!”  _ You exclaim. You step forward and brandish your wand. A Yellow-orange ray of light shoots out from the tip. The force sends you staggering back slightly, and when it meets Lockhart’s wide eyes, it knocks him off his feet, sending him flying across the table and landing on his back with a thump. Most of the girls look very unamused, while the rest of them, and most of the boys smile, a few laughing.

“Hmph.” You say smugly, feeling quite proud of yourself.  _ Serves him right for being a narcissistic ass to me. _ Lockhart stands up.

“As I expected. I knew that’s what you’d do.” He smiles, “So I allowed you to—”

_ “Expelliarmus!”  _ Again, your spell sends him flying a second time and the backlash nearly sends you stumbling off the table onto Snape and the crowd of students. 

“Alright, that’s enough. You’ve made your point.” Snape says from behind as he steadies you, fighting his own smug smirk.

“Right.” You nod, blushing slightly. He helps you off the table and then steps up onto it. He begins to advise Lockhart. 

-xXx-

Students get paired up to face each other, and Draco and Harry get pitted against each other. Offensive attacks result in them tossing each other about with magic. 

“I said disarm  _ only _ !” Lockhart instructs sharply.

Draco summons a snake. An angry, black cobra. It starts to slither across the table towards Harry Potter. Severus pushes Draco away and draws his wand.

“I’ll get rid of it, Potter.” he says.

“I’ve got it!” Gilderoy interjects. He casts a spell, which ends up throwing the snake in the air. It lands on the table, infuriated, and starts to make its way towards Justin Finch-Fletchley, who shrinks under its gaze.

Harry meets its cold eyes and begins to talk to it. A whispery, almost demonic tone elicits from his mouth which makes your skin crawl. It’s Parseltongue. You’d never heard it before, but it chills you to the bone. It looks like Harry is egging the snake on, too, telling it to attack Justin. You heart drops to your stomach, and your stomach twists on itself. You don’t want to believe it but in the very back of your mind, you can’t help but think “What if…”

Suddenly, the snake stops its advance and looks at Harry. The chilling snake language comes to a stop.

“What are you playing at!?” Justin demands, glaring at Harry.

“I didn’t—”

Harry is cut off when Snape’s guttural purr fills the air again as he summons another spell. The snake bursts into the flame. Everyone is looking at Potter now, with either fear or a glare painted on their faces. He looks at you with pleading green eyes, but you don’t know what to do.

Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick are the next ones to be petrified. A great unease fills the halls and echoes through the walls. All the students seem to think that Harry Potter is the Heir of Slytherin now. It’s the talk of the school. In class, no one can focus.

In  _ Ancient Runes  _ someone asks you what you make of the situation. You say nothing. Except, “I don’t know. It’s all so unnerving.” And that’s that. Someone says Harry Potter was sent to Dumbledore’s office today. This ebbs on the suspicion of him. 

You have a hard time suspecting him yourself. You have a hard time believing he could be the person behind the attacks. Why would he petrify the pet of the one teacher who sided with him on the night that Mrs. Norris was found with the writings on the wall? It didn’t add up.

You’re relieved when Christmastime comes around again. You’ll be able to leave campus for a couple of weeks. You pack your suitcase quietly, with the soft music from your record filling your room with that gentle sound of old and classic tunes. You try not to stare at Jareth’s empty cage. There’s a hole in your heart where he’s supposed to be. Petrified or not, you can’t help but feel you’ve lost him. This will be your first Christmas without him in nearly fifteen years. You open the top drawer of your dresser. Neatly folded up on top is the Christmas sweater you bought him from the emporium. It’s old and worn. It’s the one he wears every year, and next to that is the new sweater he never got to wear. There’s also a bird harness you don’t like to put him in, and his grooming supplies. It puts a lump in your throat.

You slam the drawer closed and finish packing. You flop down on your bed and look up at the ceiling. You listen to sad songs, tossing your wand in the air and catching it. There’s a knock on the door that causes you to stiffen.

“B-be right there!” you exclaim, wondering who it could be. You wipe the single stray tear that had managed to form in the corner of your eye and pull yourself up. You walk over to your door and pull it open. Severus is standing there with his hands folded behind his back and looking down at your short self as he always does.

“Oh. Severus—hi, umm…what can I, what can I—ahem. Evening! How are you?”

“You’re leaving tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. Tomorrow morning. Family Christmas traditions. Can’t miss them…” you trail off. You are all choked up about Jareth again, so the thought of tradition makes you sad.

“Seeing as you won’t be spending Christmas at Hogwarts, we’ll have dinner tonight.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He huffs, “Dinner.” He repeats.

“Dinner?” you press, furrowing your brows in slight puzzlement. You know he’s asking you to dinner, but he has a very authoritative and demanding way of asking you, and you’d like it very much if he’d ask properly. 

He rolls his eyes and huffs, muttering,  _ do I have to spell it out for you!? _ “These dunderheads are far too annoyingly excited tonight and quite frankly, I can’t stand being at this school right now. I need to leave because of it, so I’m going out for dinner. Would you care to come along?” You swear you see him blushing in the dim light. 

You smile, blushing lightly. And then you say, “Of course I’d like to go have dinner with you!” you answer, “Although, Severus, you don’t have to make up an excuse to cover the fact that you’d like to spend time with me.”

“It’s not as though I  _ want  _ to spend time with you. But you’re my only friend. My choices are rather limited.” 

“Okay, Severus. Say what you will.” you reply, knowingly, “But I know you better than that.” you tut. Then you say, “I’m ready to go now if you are?” He’s dressed in his coat and scarf, so you assume he is.

“Yes. Fine. We can leave now.”

You grab your coat and scarf and quickly put them on. You reach for your wallet.

“Not necessary.” he says, “I’ll take care of it. It’s too annoying to split the bill.”

“No, Severus. I can’t let you do that.” you say, “Please, I’ll take care of it.” 

“It’s not your decision.” He says.

You “hmph” and then turn and grab your wallet anyway. You stand up on your toes and look him straight in the face and go, “Fight me.” He smirks slightly and pushes you down by the shoulder to be flat on your feet again. Then he turns and heads out your door. When he realizes you aren’t following him, he stops and peers over your shoulder, “Are you just going to stand there or are you coming along?”

“Right! Of course!” you follow him immediately, trailing him like the loyal friend you are. He stops then and puts his hand out to beckon you to wait. You nearly stumble into his back. He turns around sharply and then gives you a once over.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, stepping back slightly. He gives you a once over again and then takes a step towards you. He reaches out and adjusts your scarf with both hands. He nods curtly and then turns back to continue down the hall.

“Okay…that’s it then?” you think, heart fluttering and blush making your cheeks hot. 

It’s snowing and cold on your walk to Hogsmeade. The two of you don’t talk all that much, you just quietly enjoy each other’s company. When you get to Hogsmeade it is beautifully decorated. Lights and wreaths are looped beautifully across the quaint Victorian buildings and vendors are out selling holiday goods. There are some carolers nearby too, and the shops are wonderfully lit and bursting with Christmas decorations and cheer. It smells like cinnamon, hot cocoa, and peppermint, the best smells of the season. It’s cold, and your nose and cheeks are rosy from the frigid air, but you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You look at Snape idly walking beside you, hands thrust in his pockets, expression stoic, eyes staring straight ahead, and dark hair ruffled and billowing about from the occasional icy breeze. Couples and families pass you on all sides of the streets, with loads of bags in their arms, laughing and smiling with cheer, and you want nothing more than to reach and take his arm. But you hold back. 

You end up at a quaint little restaurant at long last. Snape pushes open the door and walks inside. The little bell chimes. He keeps his hand pressed to the door, waiting for you to duck under his arm so he can close it. When he lets go, it closes from a violent gust of wind. He walks up to the front, “Table for two, please.” He says dryly.

“O-of course sir, right this way!” says the hostess. She leads you to a table near the back. It’s quaint and cozy inside, and it has a rustic cabin feel. There are torches dimly lighting it from their mounts on the walls.

“Someone will be right over to help you.” she says, then leaves.

When the waiter comes, you both order spiced butterbeers and warm food. You have a lovely dinner, and you exchange gifts. When he opens his box of fancy new potion bottles, you swear you see his stoic face light up. You’d saved up to buy him those, and you were glad you did. 

And then it’s your turn to open your gift. You glance at Snape in the dim light and then carefully untie the bow. You take the lid off the box. There’s tissue paper covering whatever it is inside, and there’s another gift-wrapped taut with the same paper.

“Small one first.” He says. You take it out and rip open the package. There’s a bottle in there, tied to a cord, with a tag. You read the tag. It says: “Simmer before Consuming”. The potion inside is turquoise blue. A soft smile crosses your lips.

“This is the Draught of Peace.” you say.

“Yes. Do you remember what it’s for?” he questions.

“It’s meant to relieve anxiety and agitation.” Your grin widens, “That’s very thoughtful, Severus.”

He studies you and raises his brow. You know you’re about to get a smart ass response.  _ Don’t.  _ You think silently.

“Considering how you’re easily agitated, I’m sure you’ll find this helpful.”

“Severus, why you—you bloody…you...” you bristle.  _ Could you have at least let me  _ **_think_ ** _ you made it for me because you’re aware of my anxiety and want to help somehow!?  _ __

“Instead of glaring at me because you can’t craft an insult, how about you open the rest of your gif?.” he says.

“Fine. But not because you told me to.” You put down the bottle of Draught of Peace and turn your attention back to the box.

“Note first.” He says. You take the note out from its envelope. There’s a single phrase on the aged parchment.

_ “Consider this a promise.” _

You set the note down and pull away the tissue wrapping. There’s a bandanna scarf in there. It’s small enough for an owl and the fabric is covered in colorful stars and galaxy design. Embroidered on the scarf is a name:  _ Jareth _ .

Tears sting your eyes and you bite your bottom lip.

“When I make that potion, and he wakes up, you can put it on him.” he says. You take the scarf carefully out of the box and examine it. The material is soft, and you know Jareth will love it. You feel a mix of emotions then. Sadness, joy, hope, reassurance…

The salty moistness of tears leak from your eyes, and you act before you can think. And suddenly, you’re standing up from the table, and throwing yourself onto Severus for an embrace. The dishes rattle loudly as you move.

“Thank you…” you say breathily, hugging him tightly. An arm and hand press lightly against your back. 

“Happy Christmas, Kit…” he purrs softly, murmuring into your ear.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter of the story besides for the last one, which I will post very soon! Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you in the final update for this part!


	8. Damn Your Eyes

VIII. Damn Your Eyes

There’s feet running down the hall. The clunking steps echo through the hallways. There, right there. The group of teachers are standing huddled around something. The weight of the air is heavy. There’s no question of it, someone else has been petrified.

They turn to look. The echoing feet stop. All of them have the same thing in their expressions.  _ “Pity”,  _ they read.. How dare they show pity! They part to make room. And then everything stops.

There you are. Rigor mortis. Cold. Still as stone. Your mouth is slightly agape in fear from a scream which was silenced. Your eyes are unsettling, glossed over. Open wide but seeing nothing. The vinyl record you had in your hand had been taken out of the sleeve to be admired. Your hands are tight around it’s thin, sleek, black reflexiveness. While normally one would consider you an idiot for taking something so fragile out of its sleeve while walking, this time, feel lucky you did. Although you can’t feel anything. Or think anything. Because you’ve been petrified.

-xXx-

I approach you slowly, expression blank as it always is. But when I gaze upon you, with your glossy eyes and the still horror on your face, there’s a sting. I recognize it. And I despise it to my very core. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did once, all those years ago, because I know that I’ll be able to save you. But I still feel pain. And I hate it. I thought that I had numbed myself to this sensation a long time ago. But lately, I’m not so sure. I detest that. Not knowing. You are making me feel things which I don’t want to feel. But no matter what I do, I can’t push them away. Or force them down, replace them with my usual numbing bitterness. I’ve been forced to give in. It’s usually so easy to be cruel, but  _ you _ make it exceedingly difficult. I can’t be cruel. Not when you look at me like that. Don’t you dare look at me like that! The way you always do. Don’t look at me like this—not looking at all. 

I’m looking at you lying there as if you were dead. You’re not gazing at me, now. You’re not looking at anything but the invisible foe that bested you. And somehow, I despise it more than I do when you look at me. I’d rather have you look at me with the admiration which is so falsely placed. I’d rather you look at me with your all-knowing eyes. The ones that see through me, piercing into me with wisdom and the empathy I hate that you can so freely show. I’d rather you look at me like that instead of not looking at me. Instead of looking at nothing with horrible, sightless eyes. I cannot bear to look at you anymore than I can bear you looking at me. STOP!

This is torture. I cannot take it. Make. It. Stop. I wish I could burn all these sensations away with my hatred for everything. But I can’t. Why do I care about you? Why do I care when the pain is always way more than I can handle? I should like to carve out my heart and tear out my eyes, so I don’t have to look at you anymore! So I don’t have to  _ feel  _ anymore. 

I can’t bear to look at you anymore looking like this. Silent. Unresponsive. Cold. And broken.

_ Make it stop! _

I can’t bear to look at you anymore. I can’t turn away.

There’s a tug on the skin of my face as I force it from twisting in perceivable agony. My nails dig into the skin of my hand as I try to keep them from shaking. 

I can’t bear to look. So, I pull off my cloak, and cover you with it. Then I turn. And I leave.

_ Damn your eyes. _

* * *

_ Dear Kit, _

_ You were petrified on New Year’s Eve. Would you have gone in for the kiss had you been there this time? Would I have let you? We won’t ever know. They took you and laid you in the infirmary right next to your owl and with all the other victims. _

_ They cancelled your production of “Cinderella”. Don’t they say “the show must go on?” Does that apply if something happens to the director too? A part of me wanted to threaten Lockhart into finishing it. But I figured you wouldn’t want him tainting your production. Your students are devastated that theatre class has been cancelled for the rest of the year. Some of them wrote you get well cards. _

_ It was quiet after that. For a while. When Valentine’s day came, I was miserable, having to deal with all the Dunderheads writing cliché notes, and passing out chocolates and greeting cards, roses, and stuffed animals. It was disgusting. And childish.  _

_ The school is still in heavy spirits. Their already pathetic work ethics have dwindled tremendously. So have the work ethics of the professors. Already, with the first victims it was tense enough. But since you were turned to stone the entire atmosphere has become much darker. You live up to that metaphorical thing you called yourself “Sunflower”. I say that with a scoff, just so you’re aware. _

__

_ How is it that the lack of one person can make an environment less bright? You confuse me and irritate me. But I find it more irritating without you around. Now they’re concerned about me. I don’t get suspicious looks but I get looks which perceive me with pity. I hate that. I’m perfectly fine. _

__

_ The students are saying I’m much worse without you around. Whatever. Their gossip is the least of my concerns. They’re children. Their words mean nothing to me. _

__

_ No, I haven’t gone to visit you. It’s pointless when you’re completely unresponsive to me. I’ve started preparing to make that potion. The one that’s going to revive you and the others. The staff meetings are becoming more and more frequent, and the fear is making the school very paranoid…. _

__

_ This is ridiculous! Why am I writing to you? I told you to stop sending letters and here I am, writing to you. Goodbye.” _

- S. Snape

* * *

I shove the letter into my desk drawer and slam it shut. And then I hear a loud thump. I jump and brandish my wand, whipping my head around to face the clatter. It’s only the cat. She has decided to sit on the top shelf of my wardrobe, and to make room for herself, she’s carelessly knocked over a box. A familiar box. After casting a glare at the cat, I walk over to pick it up from the ground. I carry it to my bed and unlock it with “ _ Alohomora.” _

__

Inside are all your letters, and the ticket stubs from last years’ shows. I dump the box’s contents onto my duvet. I rummage through them and read them again from the first to the last one. I learn nothing except some poetry techniques and figures of speech. For some reason, I don’t find them near as disturbing as the last time. But it still amazes me you found anything nice to say about me. And not just anything, but so many nice things to say.

You’re an idiot for being so sentimental. You don’t know the half of anything about me, and if I have anything to say about it, I’m keeping it that way. I highly doubt you’d be so sweet if you knew the rest. I could break your heart to pieces if you knew. Is that what you really want me to do?

_ I’ll leave out all the rest to keep you. _

What!? Damn you. What is it with you that makes me say that? Why do I want to keep you? Why am I suddenly concerned about someone else’s well-being? Why do I value another person like this when I don’t even value myself? I thought I was through with caring when I lost  _ her _ . 

But my rationale is telling me otherwise. My actions are telling me otherwise. And the worst of it all is, I’m letting them do it,  _ willingly. _ Damn you.

It was always so easy to be cruel. But I cannot bring myself to be cruel to you. And I hate that I’m letting you in like this, because it makes me vulnerable. I do not want to be vulnerable. I want to give you the potion and never talk to you again.

But we know how well that works. It  _ doesn’t. _ The moment you wake up, you’re going to smile at me. And when you do, it’ll be impossible for me to shut you out. If I do, you’ll go off philandering with other teachers again. And I’d hate that. 

I hate you can’t speak clearly and I hate that you’re not stuttering in my ear. I hate that you’re not here failing to come up with insults because you’re flustered with my sarcasm. I hate that you aren’t here rambling on about your interests despite how much they bore me. I hate that you’re not here struggling to make small talk, because you can’t think of anything to talk about but the bloody weather. I hate that I haven’t learned an abstract fact from you today. You say some of the wittiest things without being an insufferable know-it-all. I hate that you’re clumsy and how you aren’t stumbling into me. I hate how you aren’t making a fool of yourself. I hate that you’re not here for me to make fun of you. I hate your taste in music and I hate that it’s quiet without the murmur of your record player playing a piece from your substantial records collection. I hate how caring you are. I hate how good of a person you are. The worst of it all, though, is that I hate that I miss you. 

I don’t deserve it. Why can’t you just be like everyone else? Why won’t you just use me and treat me horribly? What could you possibly see in me that makes you so fond of me when there’s nothing to be fond of?

You’ll never hear of any of this. You aren’t ever going to learn about what I’ve said because it’s all in my head. I never wrote it down. So, you can’t read it. And I sure as hell won’t ever say it out loud.

* * *

_ Dear Kit, _

_ Good thing you aren’t here because everything is getting worse. Miss Granger, and Miss Clearwater were petrified too. Even my grudge-holding self knew it wasn’t Potter, then. New rules were put in place that forced me to escort the students to Herbology. Your friends found out about what happened to you. That didn’t go over well at all. They harassed the Headmaster and Madame Pomphrey until they let them visit you. They’re all very unhappy about it. Eliza said she’s going to fight you once you’re revived. Everyone else agreed. _

__

_ The Ministry of Magic came in and took Hagrid to Azkaban. The governors removed Dumbledore from the position of Headmaster. With Malfoy in charge we’ll see how everything goes. _

_ -S. Snape _

* * *

_ Dear Kit, _

_ Whoever the culprit of the petrifying is took Ginny Weasley, and that idiot Potter and his equally Dunderheaded friend Ronald Weasley took Lockhart and found the entrance to the chamber.  _

_ -S.Snape _

* * *

_ Dear Kit, _

_ Potter saved the girl, and the school again…wonderful. You can’t tell right now, but I’m scoffing and rolling my eyes.  _

_ The culprit was You-Know-Who. As it turned out, he was the heir of Slytherin. He was controlling a Basilisk. You should consider yourself lucky. One look into that massive serpent’s beady yellow eyes and you would have dropped dead. Good thing you saw it through a reflection in your record.  _

_ Not only was he controlling the Basilisk, but he was also acting through young Miss Weasley, using her as the puppet for his dirty work, through an enchanted journal which she somehow got her hands on. Dumbledore is back, and he’s working on release papers for Hagrid. Everyone is fine, and no one died. Well, all except Lockhart. He was a fraud, stealing stories and information from other wizards, erasing their memories with his memory charms, and then taking the credit for himself. That vile idiot. He tried to use Ron Weasley’s problematic and dangerous broken wand to erase he and Potters’ memories, and was going to let them, as well as Ginny, die down there and once again take credit for something which he didn’t do. However, the wand backfired and struck him instead. He woke up not remembering a clue about who he was. He was institutionalized in St Mungo's for permanent spell damage. That’s the end of him. I really hope you have better judgement next time and don’t go around with another person like him. It’s for the better anyway, he was useless as a teacher. An embarrassment to the Hogwarts’ staff. What Dumbledore was thinking when he hired him, I have no idea. That aside, I’m nearly ready with the potion that is going to revive you. I’ll see you in the Great Hall when you wake up. _

_ -S.Snape _

* * *

I fold up both letters and seal them in one envelope. I’ll leave them by your bedside. Once I’ve finished, I continue with the potion. It’s nearly finished now.

Dumbledore comes in to rush me. I nod, I tell him that it’s nearly done, and then roll my eyes as he leaves. I finish promptly, triple checking and testing the potion to ensure it has been made with the utmost meticulous perfection. I’ll settle for nothing less in my potions. With the potion held in a careful grasp, I make my way to the infirmary, where Madame Pomphrey, Dumbledore, Minerva, and Ponoma are waiting impatiently. The antidote is distributed evenly in small glasses, and everyone works together to carefully give it to all of you.

Something comes over me, and I immediately volunteer to take care of you and Jareth. I dribble some potion into the animal’s parted beak. It’ll take a moment to take effect. Then, I draw in a shaky breath, and turn to face your bed. The curtains are still drawn over it. I feel that familiar feeling of dread bubbling up inside, making its way through the veins, twisting up my stomach. I am not looking forward to seeing your dreadful stone face again. So, I tear the curtain open. The scraping sound splits the quiet air. I avert my gaze from your face, pulling your body into a slightly more upright position. I cover your eyes with my hand. I carefully part your lips with my other one, pulling gently at your lower jaw. Only a few drops of this and you’ll be revived. The liquid slips between your teeth. A few drops dribble down your chin. I use my sleeve to blot them away. And then I turn, and I leave before you can wake up and see me. As I turn away from you, I hear Jareth stirring. And I think to myself then:

_ “I’ve kept my promise.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooo boy do I love the concept of self-erasing narratives! Finally, we get to see Snape's perspective~ evidently, it seems he's had his epiphany...we'll see how everything plays out in part 3! Until next time, dear readers! Bye~

**Author's Note:**

> Ouch! Right off the bat, they're already having an issue. Sorry, my dudes, but this one won't be as fun and light-hearted as the one before it.


End file.
